


The Men in Apartment 4A

by SparklesTheMetalDragon



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, BDSM, DDLG, Daddy Kink, Daddy!Clint, Daddy!Steve, Deaf Clint Barton, Dom Clint, Dom Steve, Dom/sub, Domestic, Everyone Needs A Hug, Fluff, Graphic depictions of life before the Avengers, Happy Ending, Italian Mafia, Little!OFC, Mentions of Eating Disorder, Multi, OFC has an eating disorder, Polyamory, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Clint Barton, Protective Steve Rogers, Smut, Sub OFC, WinterHawkShield, daddy!Bucky, dom bucky, mentions of abuse, mentions of rape/non-con, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-04-08 17:46:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 32,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14110713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparklesTheMetalDragon/pseuds/SparklesTheMetalDragon
Summary: Sloan Genovese has lived a horrible life up until she turned 18.Developing powers as a result of abuse made her a weapon.A weapon that can, and will, eventually come back to kill it's maker.But until then she learns from 3 equally broken men how to live a semblance of a normal life.Maybe they can all fix each other.





	1. The Beginning of the Rest of My Life

Humans are animals.  We have base instincts to submit, dominate or remain neutral. Every human is one of the three. Similar to Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics in wolf packs, humans have Dominant/Neutral/Submissive dynamics. When we go through puberty, we present. Its linked back to the Theory of Evolution. They teach us about it in school, but it was never interesting enough for me to learn more about. Growing up in the mafia, you were taught to only care about one thing. Money. Whatever made us the most money mattered more than Philosophy and Evolution theory.   

                Most mafia members had completed school by the time they joined. I –being born into the family- was not given with such a luxury. I had to go to school as well as follow the orders of my father. Orders that eventually led to the shut down of my elementary school the month after I graduated from 5th grade and moved on to Middle School. Apparently releasing toxic gas in the vents to force a spy out of hiding puts children at risk as well.

                I was a risk after that. A risk in every public school in the entire state of New York. So Papa paid top-dollar for an onsite teacher to keep me well informed and exceptionally educated. The lady was nice enough. She enjoyed my company about as much as I enjoyed hers. During the middle of the 7th-grade year. I presented. Not in a “science fair project” type of way either. When I hit puberty at 13, like every other boy and girl my age, I stood before a tribune of well-paid doctors. I went through a series of tests, both medical and educational before they determined my role in society’s hierarchy.

Before I presented, everyone thought I was a born and bred dominant, or at the very least neutral with dominant leanings. Papa had already begun grooming me as a street boss 4 years prior to my Presentation Date. By the time I was 13 I was trained in MMA, street fighting, knife throwing, sting operations, torture, lying, and theft. I became the youngest underboss in the history of all 5 families. So the other 4 families struck a deal with my father.

One month out of every year I was passed off to the other 4 families. I did whatever I was asked in exchange for my ability to request favors later on. When I presented as submissive, Papa was terrified that he would lose the deal. In the 4 time-span after the deal had been made and agreed to, the Genovese family had become the most powerful. To save our power, Papa told everyone I had presented as a dominant. He had his henchmen kill the Presenting Specialists. Papa and I were the only ones who knew.

I was registered as a Dominant on all my High School transcripts. I took Dominant based classes and studied Dominant based careers. I researched Dominant based college campuses and made sure to register for all the Advanced Placement Dominant Classes. As far as the world was concerned, I was a Dominant. Psychologically, however, I was still a submissive. However, years of being treated as a dominant morphed how I developed and who I came to be.

When I was 17, I woke up to my fingertips throbbing. I thought Papa had gotten angry at me and chopped them off in my sleep at first. But then I could touch things with them so I changed my mind. I reached out blindly, to wake up whatever boy I was sleeping with at the time, and heard screams of pain. When the light came on and I was more awake, but the sight before made me want to go back to sleep for a long time.

The screams of pain were emanating from the boy, who was now writhing on the ground. His upper torso was charred black like a human marshmallow. His neck and face seemed unharmed, as well as his stomach and everything below it, but his chest –where I had placed my hand- was ruined.

I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t even feel the throbbing in my fingertips anymore. I could only see the horror I had caused. The person I had harmed. Papa and his henchmen came in soon after the screaming stopped. I didn’t even check to see if the boy was alive because I was almost entirely sure he was not. Papa’s henchmen carried him away while Papa came to sit on my bed.

His face was guarded. His eyes were swimming with an unknown emotion. His hands were clutched into white-knuckled fists.

“What…was that.” His voice was gruff.

He asked a question I didn’t know the answer to.

I shoved my hands towards him, palms up and let him stare at the new marks on my fingertips. He was afraid to touch them. I understood why, but it didn’t stop the pain that blossomed in my chest.

_My own father is afraid of me._

After that Papa saw me as a weapon. A weapon he was fearful of, but a  weapon all the same. He kept me in a room with no windows or doors when he didn’t need me. He fed me enough so that he wouldn’t feel guilty about it later on. He did the bare minimum of parenting and never sent me to a doctor if I injured myself on one of his missions. I was the most in-disposable, disposable assassin he’d ever worked with. I was his most valuable asset. I was used for recon. I was used for heists. I was used as a method of interrogating our suppliers if they didn’t ‘supply’ enough. I became the Mafia’s own black-fingered assassin.

I lived 5 years of my life like this. A submissive turned-dominant assassin with serious daddy issues.  I had earned the title “Usignolo” or “Nightingale.” Papa simply called me “Quello Scuro” or “Dark One.” I was the least normal of the 4 Bellomo children my father had raised. My other siblings were all boys, all doing the grunt work for Papa’s tasks. None of them were as smart as me (Papa made school an _option_ for them). None of them were as cunning or manipulative as me. They were all sub-par compared to the level of expectation _I_ had been expected to reach. Yet Papa treated them all as kings while I was shunned in a room with an iron door and concrete walls.

My 3 other siblings barely remembered me when I saw them again.

Working for and with the Mafia strips you of all job security. Unless you’re a weapon of destruction. Papa kept me around even after all three of my siblings were thrown out in disgrace. They had been selling secrets to the police and our most important deals had been raided in the past couple months. After my siblings were disgraced, I was the last of the Bellomo children to keep Papa’s legacy. He realized this (because he’s not an idiot, just an asshole) and for once in my 5 years of life after I presented, I was set free.

The very next day I ran away. 

My powers had been fading over the past 5 years until they had finally gone grey and dead at my fingertips…literally. I was completely alone. I had been isolated for 5 years. Everything was confusing and overwhelming in the outside world. But I’d be damned if I returned home. So I went to a bar and drank my troubles away.

I woke up the next day in a hospital bed in a facility in Upstate New York.

The next hour I met Tony Stark.

The following day I met the rest of the Avengers.

The day after that I met my Dominants.

It wasn’t until I met Tony Stark that I realized I was living a lie. My submissive needs had been heavily repressed, dangerous for any submissive but –this was discovered later on – even worse for a submissive with my abilities. I was and still am the only known submissive forced into a dominant lifestyle. Repressing my base instincts and forcing foreign – not to mention polar opposite – instincts into its place. In short, I was a submissive with a huge ego and even larger dislike for authority.

Bruce Banner (during the short time I let him touch me) examined my fingertips with guarded curiosity. They had been dead and grey when I woke up, but the action of him holding my hand (only to get a closer look) send a tingle of electricity through them. They were darker. Not yet black, but not too far off. When Bruce noticed this he devised a hypothesis (that I was not given the luxury of hearing) and shuffled off to find my ‘savior’ Tony Stark.

Tony Stark showed up in my hospital room with a frown on his face. I was used to be examined, poked, and prodded but seeing someone look at me with what can only be described as _disgust_ was new. His eyes wracked my figure, not stopping at any certain place, just mildly assessing the human being in front of him.

_Can you even call yourself a human being anymore?_

He placed a hand on my shoulder, his eyes never leaving my hands that were curled tightly in my lap. The touch sent shockwaves down my arms and my fingertips darkened once more. Now I could call the color black, almost resembling pitch in the way it contrasted against my pale skin. Tony Stark continued to stare before suddenly straightening and leaving the room.

I didn’t see him until the next day.

When the following morning arrived. 9 people came with it. I recognized most of their faces. I knew most of their names. I had done deals with weapons dealers selling old Stark weapons. I had bought weapons and drugs from some of the biggest crime circuits that the Avenger’s later destroyed. The Avengers never messed with us, however. We certainly made their job harder as we were only fueling the fire of organized crime they were trying so desperately to stomp out.

Papa never talked to me about the Avengers. Quite frankly I was never given the chance to ask. I knew that Papa had worked with Natasha years and years ago before she decided to go and clean her ledger. He also had close contact with Clint Barton at one point…well, as close as you can get to Clint Barton when he has an arrow notched at your head.

Papa didn’t like Clint Barton. That much I knew.

So when I saw him near the front of the crowd, flanked by Natasha Romanoff and an oddly familiar face attached to a body with an oddly familiar metal arm, I was filled with tension. He was preceded by All American Poster Child Steve Rogers and So Rich He Pees Pennies Tony Stark. I was unimpressed with everyone before me. The other Avengers stood behind them. Hell, even Thor was there.

I was beginning to feel like I was of importance to the one and only Tony Stark.

No one spoke to me. They all stared at me with their varying expressions but equally calculating gazes. Clint seemed the least impressed, rivaled only by Bucky who seemed more than bored. Banner and Stark poked and prodded at me, showing a brunette with magic hands my black tinted finger-tips. She was interested and touched a single finger to the palm of my hand. A burst of electricity erupted from the place of contact and my fingers grew darker than before. Now I would say they resembled pitch. The brunette was intrigued. She muttered something in a language I wasn’t fluent in.

After that Clint seemed more interested.

I didn’t talk to them. They didn’t talk to me. We all just stared at each other while Stark and Banner and now this brunette poked at me. My fingertips darkened every time they made skin-to-skin contact with me. I was confused. They were confused. Everyone was bored looking (except Stark who looked annoyingly interested still.)

                The silence was painfully awkward and frankly embarrassing. Not for me of course, _but for them_. They were adult superheroes for fuck's sake! Yet none of them know how to start a conversation.

                “So am I the newest attraction or is someone going to speak to me like the human being I am?” I question sourly.

                I winced at how my voice sounded.

                “Ah, she speaks,” Thor states.

                The jovial smirk on his face made my skin crawl.

                “That I do Gigantor,” I piped up.

                The room paused. Stark stopped his prodding. Banner looked up from his computer. The Brunette stopped twirling magic between her fingers. Everyone else looked surprised. Thor looked…angry.

                Stark had briefly explained to me that I wasn’t actually a Dominant. I agreed and informed him that I was well aware I was _born_ a submissive. I had been raised as a Dominant so a Dominant is what I was.

                I think he forgot to explain my predicament to the rest of the team.

                “I believe you are mistaken, Lady…” Thor’s voice came out deeper than I anticipated.

                “You don’t need to know my name,”

                No way in hell would I bow to a Dominant.

                “Aye, you’d be well to watch your tone, _Submissive,”_ He growled.

                “Only if you agree to watch yours, _asshole,_ ” I respond.

                If anyone wasn’t surprised before, this exchange definitely changed their mind.

                The Dominants all looked surprised and agitated. The neutrals weary. The subs looked fucking terrified. Some submissive’s spoke out to dominants because they enjoyed the punishment that followed. Everyone in the room was secretly hoping I was acting out for punishment. I, however,  knew the truth and also knew it would go over like a lead balloon with the rest of the crowd.

                Thor stalked out of the room, thunder boomed distantly.

                “Oops,” I looked Steve Rogers dead in the eye and caught my tongue between my teeth in a cheeky smile.

                Steve’s eyes hardened and I felt myself gulping nervously.

                _Maybe he wasn’t a submissive after all._

                The Avengers left my room shortly after Thor’s dramatic exit. I fell asleep soon after, dreaming of a certain blonde haired blue eyed All American man.

                The following day I woke up to commands.

                They weren’t commands at me but commands for people to _release me_.

                Fear pulsed through my chest.

                _They’re sending me back._

Fury called an emergency meeting. I was hauled from my minimally comfortable hospital bed and sat in an unsettlingly uncomfortable chair in what looked like a meeting room. Phil Coulson, Sam Wilson, Maria Hill, himself, and three, really pissed off men sat at a round table across from me. I could tell Coulson was a sub from the moment I saw him. The collar around his neck tipped me off. Steve sat next to three very pissed off Dom’s one of which was Maria Hill. The man with the metal arm and the familiar face was present. His purpose and place in this mess was unknown to me but his posture suggested he was a Dominant.

**Clint**

Clint Barton imagined meeting his submissive on…calmer terms. He hoped he’d meet them in a coffee shop, or maybe a grocery store. He hoped they’d be nice and respectful to other dom’s out of respect rather than fear. He wanted low-key. He didn’t want stress. Clint Barton understood that punishment was a part of being a dom but he hoped he wouldn’t have to do it…much.

                His surprise can be imagined when his sub waltzed into a meeting room with her head held high and her mouth running. The same submissive that had verbally assaulted a certain dom from Asgard yesterday. She was loud, disrespectful and anything but low-key.

                Clint thought it was an act at first. He thought maybe she’d needed to wear the mask of an unruly sub to get people to listen to her. Later on, he discovered it was anything but a mask but more of an ingrained extension of her twisted past.

                He watched her from his seat quietly. She was definitely a sub but she acted a lot like a dom. Clint assumed she had been raised as one. A case never heard of in SHEILD history. He noticed that even though she was vehemently disrespecting the dominant authority in the room, she never spoke until spoken too. She remained quiet and brooding otherwise. Her posture was tense, but not commanding. Sure her tone commanded respect, but her posture was loose. Her eyes were full of fear and glittering with wanton control.

                Clint fell in love with her immediately.

**Sloan**

                I had snapped and sneered at any question or point of direction that came my way. Dominants were bristling. Wilson was clearly out of his element. Coulson had left the room for a  few minutes. I assumed it was to find his own dom for some semblance of control.

Leaving me to be 100% aware of how uncontrollable I was. Papa raised a fighter. So a fighter I would be.

                “THAT’S ENOUGH!” Fury yelled.

                I had just avoided a slew of questions from Maria Hill. She looked at me with pursed lips and fire in her eyes.

                The room fell silent. It was clear he was the Alpha Dominant of the group. Even I fell silent. Something inside me cracked a bit and the need to respect the wishes of the very angry dom in front of me appeared out of nowhere.

                “You, Miss Bellomo are quite the handful. You’ve arrived on SHEILD property, made several Dominants uncomfortable and disrespected the authority of many high-level SHEILD officials. I wanted this to be a nice, short meeting discussing your new housing arrangements and your enlistment into the SPP but I fear I won’t have the luxury.” The Director explained angrily.

                “The Submissive Placement Program.” I deadpanned.

                “I’m glad you understand acronyms. You’ve already been placed with dominants. _Your_ dominants. Your clothes and what little belongings you have are already in their room at Stark tower. You will remain in this program indefinitely.” The director pushed on, ignoring my noises of protests.

                “What poor sad sacks did you stick me with? Shitty abusive doms that can’t find a sub on their own?” I snapped, standing angrily.

                “Miss Bellomo,” Wilson warns.

                “No. I will not be pulled out of an abusive 5 year long relationship with my father only to be shoved in with the next set of Dominants just waiting to exert their position over me. You can take your offer Nick and shove it right up your ass.” I yelled across the table.

                “It wasn’t an offer,” Nick stated simply.

                I wanted to punch his cocky smirk right off his asshole face.

                Instead, I opted for leaving. I was already standing, might as well leave and get it over with. Better to do it now than to be carried out in a body bag later. I barely take a step towards the door when-

                “Sit. Down.” A commanding voice filled the room.

                Everyone fell silent. Heads and eyes swiveled to its source.

                Clint Barton was sitting up straight but otherwise relaxed, eyes boring into mine. I visibly gulped.

                For the first time in 18 years. I followed orders from someone other than Barney Bellomo.

                I sat.

                Fury’s eyebrows shot into his nonexistent hairline. Hill looked unnerved. Wilson looked cautionary. Clint looked pissed. Steve looked annoyed. The guy with the metal arm looked ready to kill.

                “Thank you.” Clint spoke.

                I nodded slowly. Swallowing thickly.

                _What the fuck._

I leveled my gaze with Fury’s. He matched me in intensity. When he saw I wasn’t going to submit to his ego-fueled staring contest he dropped his gaze and sighed.

                “I wish this was happening on different terms. I am afraid you’ve given us no other choice. Your Dominants are as follows, Clint Barton, Steve Rogers, and James Barnes. –“ Hill stops.

                “James…Barnes. Like James Buchanan Barnes. Like the Winter Solider James Buchanan Barnes.” I began rambling.

                I had known of this man many years before he was a member of the Avengers. I had worked with this man. Sparred with this man. Taken a gun and shot this man…in the foot.

                Sometimes the other families would send me to other parts of the world. One time the Gambino’s sent me to Russia to handle business with a company called HYDRA. I was there for a couple weeks, getting intel, stealing weapons, making a mental map of the facilities grounds. One of the higher-ups caught on to me though and 5 minutes after I arrived that day, The Winter Solider was barreling down the hallway towards me with murder in his ice-silver eyes.

                _If he asks I’ll tell him it was self-defense._

                A pointed look from said man confirmed that he in fact carried many Dominant qualities. One of which involved staring directly at me until I lowered my gaze. Fury watched the exchange with a visibly annoyed expression. I kept my eyes trained on the desk in front of me and made a mental note to not try and stare this Dom down.

                “You will be staying on the floor they already own. If there are any signs of abuse when we do our check-ups in the following weeks you will be rehomed. Any questions you have, direct them to your Dominants. That is all.” Hill finishes.

                “Dismissed.” Fury states.


	2. Dormant Powers Resurface and then Enact an Untimely Revenge

Everyone but Sam, Steve, Bucky, and Clint left the room. Sam followed a minute or two later. Only after he was sure I wouldn’t attack any of the doms in front of me.

                Then it was the four of us.

                “Ho lasciato il mio letto d'ospedale per essere osservato da uomini corpulenti con complessi di superiorità. Grande.” _(I left my hospital bed to be stared down by three burly men with superiority complexes. Great.)_ I muttered, leveling my gaze with the ground.

                “Вы уверены, что мы с комплексом?” _(You sure were the ones with the complex?)_ a gruff voice spoke.

                I couldn’t pinpoint which one of my new Doms had said it. I could, however, pinpoint the language he was most fluent in.

                “How did you…?” I ask, snapping my head up to meet three pairs of eyes.

                “I understand Italian, I just can’t speak it.” The gruff voice belonged to none other than The Winter Soldier James Buchanan Barnes.

                “I see. Who taught you?” I inquire.

                A memory flickers in my head.

_I’m sitting across from The Winter Solider. We’re on a carrier of some sort. It’s small and armored, no doubt bulky looking in the sky. He was staring at me. Staring at my lips as I recited an Italian song my Papa used to sing to me before he decided to lock me away._

_I noticed the way his brows would crinkle when I recited a new word that I had never said before. It occurred to me that he was watching my lips to learn what I was saying._

“You.” He says.

He looks just as surprised as I am when we lock eyes again.          

Clint and Steve watch the interaction with calculating eyes. Neither of them asks how we met. Most Doms I’ve met are nosy. They push to reveal secrets out of fear that the sub is acting unloyal. Clint and Steve did not do that.

“Today has started poorly. I think we can start it over if you give us the chance,” Steve states.

I snap my head towards his voice. It’s dominant of course, leaves no room for arguing. However, at the same time, it's gentle and nurturing. No Dom I’ve ever run with in the mafia is gentle. Granted they all thought I was a dominant too, but it led me to believe they were incapable of anything gentle. My father was the only dominant that ever told me he loved me…until I killed that kid.

“You speak as though I have a choice.” I bristle.

“You do. You can make today a good day or it can continue to remain a bad one.” Clint speaks up this time.

I meet his gaze with a narrowed eyes. He watches me unmoving and – seemingly – uncaring. Fear spikes through my heart again at the thought of three uncaring dominants being in charge of my wellbeing.

Steve gently reaches out a hand for me to take. I stare at it. Tears threaten to spill at his act of kindness. It’s the most I’ve received from any dominant in a while. I know a hand is simply just a hand. I know there’s nothing the hand is offering but a place for me to put my own. His hand looks soft and warm. Everything in me is telling me to go against my learned behavior and slip into the embrace of this dominant but everything else is screaming at me not to.

I find myself with my hand halfway to his. It’s frozen in apprehension. I pull my lip between my teeth in thought. Clint looks carefully interested. Bucky remains guarded and cold. Steve has a small smile, barely detectable, on his All American face.

It simply seems like a hand-hold. A place for me to find comfort in my dom. But I know it runs deeper than that. If I give Steve my hand I am turning over a portion of my learned behavior so that he can replace it with instinctual behavior instead. I’m not quite sure if I want to relinquish any control yet.

Slowly my hand retracts back towards my body. Steve frowns, and I feel my resolve harden in annoyance.

_I’m not obligated to hold your hand Spangles. I’m my own dominant._

Bucky sighs and leaves the room at a leisurely pace. I watch him in interest until his form disappears around a corner. Clint has sympathy and caution written into every fine line of his face. He knows what this means. Its clear to me he’s the Alpha of the three Dom’s. Steve lets his hand fall to his side, but other than that he doesn’t move. Clint follows Bucky’s path and my eyes follow him until he too disappears behind the corner. Steve is still in front of me. He’s still frowning. I still don’t want to relinquish control.

“It’s a hand, Sloan.”

“Its more than that and you know it,”

“But it’s not,” he says.

My brows furrow as I look at him in confusion.

“If I hold your hand…then I am letting you –“

“Then you’re letting me hold your hand. Nothing more. Nothing less,” he interrupts me gently.

Any other dominant would lead me forcefully, without question, to their pre-decided destination. That’s how the dominants did it with our submissive henchmen. They forced them and the submissives listened without question or complaint.

Their blind compliance disgusted me.

_How can someone submit so fully to someone else? How can someone be okay with that?_

                “I am not submitting to you,” I say.

                “I was not asking you to,” he counters.

                “Bucky did,” I reply.

                “You were behaving in a manner that required redirection,” Steve explains.

                “Who is he to say my behavior needs redirection,” I state.

                “He’s your dominant.” Steve states.

                “I never asked for this,” I explain.

                “We saw a need and we filled it,” He speaks slowly, so as not to say something he’ll regret.

                “Who are you to fill my needs? Who is Fury to decide who dominates me? Who is Stark to decide he is the one to save my life? That’s the thing about all you Dominants. You take. You do what you please and you take from submissives without question. You want us to submit and behave yet you don’t give us the opportunity of choice or decision. You expect blind compliance. Unwavering obedience. I may have been born a submissive but that left me long ago. I am my own dominant. I know what I need. I know what I can and cannot do. I know right from wrong. You do not know enough to tell me how to behave. I am not a soldier and I am not yours to command.” I finish with a growl.

                Steve’s expression is carefully concealed behind a purposefully neutral expression.

                “No one is asking you to submit until you’re ready. I am simply asking you to take my hand. This is an act of kindness, so you don’t get lost on the way upstairs,” he states.

                He outstretches his hand.

                Before I can argue again my body propels my arm forward so my hand falls into his.

                I can’t speak. I refuse. I look at our interlaced fingers and expect to feel fear. Instead, a calm washes over me. The need to follow grows. Suddenly the idea of submitting to someone doesn’t seem as bad. It’s still degrading, and disgusting, but not enough to make me pull my hand away. The skin-on-skin contact sends shocks up my arm and I see the pitch black color on my fingertips grow _even_ darker.

                I begin to form a hypothesis in my head as Steve leads me gently throughout the compound.

                _My fingertips only darken when someone touches me affectionately. The shocks I feel are similar to the ones I felt on the day I…ended that kids life._

Fear races through me and I rip my hand out of Steve’s.

                He stops walking and looks at me in surprise. I’m too busy staring at my hands in horror to care. I walk over to the nearest wall in the hallway and place my hand on it. Nothing happens. I grab Steve’s hand again and turn it, palm up, to examine it. There’s nothing on it. A sigh of relief exists my body in a gush of air. Steve seems worried.

                I go back to staring at my fingertips. I move them and watch as the black contrasts my pale skin. I press my thumb and pointer finger together before slowly releasing. A  thin electrified black line sizzles between them, growing as I increase the distance between my fingers. Steve is watching, cautious. I shake my hand and the line falls away. I press all my fingertips to one another this time and pull apart just like before. 5 electrified, black lines emanated from my fingertips. As my hands stretch apart, so do the electrified black lines.

                Steve looks less worried and more cautious now.

                “You…need to go see Banner,” He says.

                “No,” I respond, enthralled with the sight before me.

                Silence.

                I slowly shake off the lines and turn to face the wall beside us. I pull energy from my fingertips and ball it in the palm of my hands. I slowly bring them level with my chest and pull them back to throw the energy ball at the wall.

                “I don’t think you should do that.” Steve tries.

                His tone leaves little room for argument.

                The little room, however small it might be, is enough to egg me on.

                I launch the ball of energy at the wall…and then collapse as it comes right back at me.

                It hits my stomach with a sizzling growl and ice runs through my body. I don’t even realize I cried out until the silence that returns is deafening.

                “Sloan!” Steve calls out.

                He’s by my side in a flash.

                “I’m”- I cough hard, “Okay,” I respond.

                His warm arms cradle my back and he pulls me against his chest.

                “We’re going to see Banner,” Steve states.

                There’s absolutely no room for argument in his tone now.

                “Yes, sir.” I gasp.

                I almost don’t feel his steps stutter. I almost don’t hear the hum of praise from his chest and the warmth that spreads through my chest at the sound of it.

                _Almost._

 


	3. A Softer Side to an Otherwise Prickly Girl

I wasn’t even aware I had lost consciousness until I regained it hours later in the presence of Helen Cho and Dr. Banner. Their warm, concerned eyes met my wide, terrified ones. Fear spikes through my heart and I close my eyes quickly, praying I’m dreaming.

                “Miss Bell- Sloan, it’s okay, we’re not going to hurt you,” Banner reaches out and presses a hand to my arm.

                All my anxieties fall away and I find myself leaning into his surprisingly warm touch.

                “I thought..you were a dom,” I mumble.

                My voice sounds wrecked.

                “Me? Well, that’s very sweet. I’m as neutral as they come,” Banner smiles down at me.

                “I…I’m a submissive,” I mutter.

                Immediately my hands fly to cover my mouth.

_What am I doing! I can’t tell them that. They’ll use it against me!_

Panic surges through me before being staunched by Banner’s touch.

                “Relax Sloan. We have your information on file, we know you’re a submissive. You’re on some pretty heavy meds to reduce the pain so you might find yourself a bit more…forthcoming,” Banner explains.

                _His voice sounds like what warm caramel looks like._

“Uh…thank you?” he tapers off.

                “DID I SAY THAT OUT LOUD?” I screech.

                His chuckle sounds even warmer.

                “Yes Sloan, it appears you did,”

                “You weren’t kidding about that forthcoming thing,” I chuckle nervously.

                “No, no I was not,”

                “Uh…what…happened?” I ask.

                “From what your Dominant described, you launched a ball of energy at yourself,” Banner replied.

                He did a bad job of covering the smirk on his face.

                “I…which one?”

                “Steve,”

                “All American Poster Child Steve?”

                Banner doesn’t try to hide his laugh this time.

                “Yes, I believe so,”

                “Oh,”

                We sit in silence for a minute before thudding steps nearing the room ruin it. Banner and I share a knowing look. Once dominants have met their submissive, they are immediately tuned into their well-being. If something is affecting their well-being, they sense it and seek out the problem. Me being unconscious severed the connection temporarily and now that I was back with reality I would have to face 3 most likely panicked dominants.

                The door swings open a little too hard and Bucky and Clint fill the doorway. Steve stands behind them, relief evident in his baby blues.

                “Sloan,” they breathe my name like a sigh of relief.

                I release a breath I didn’t know I had been holding and for a minute it’s serene. For one whole minute, I just meet the gazes of the three men before me. Steve, Bucky, Clint. Steve, Bucky, Clint. For a minute no one speaks. For a minute I’m swimming on the very edge of subspace that the presence of dominants can bring.

                Then Clint speaks and the minute has effectively passed.

                “Maybe next time Steve tells you not to do something, you shouldn’t do it,” he says.

                Everything in me wants to argue. Fight back with some sharp remark suffixed with a ‘go fuck yourself’ but I can’t. My body is wiped and I’m teetering on the edge of a place I’ve never been to before. Fear is stuck in my throat like cotton, and I’m unable to speak.

                So I nod. I nod because I know Clint is right. I know I should’ve listened and I could’ve avoided this uncomfortable hospital gown and the needles in my arm. I realize for the first time that I don’t really want to be my own dominant. That I don’t always know what I’m doing. The realization scares me but at the same time relieves me.

                It’s a strange feeling.

                Clint looks surprised. My mouth hasn’t moved. I’m simply agreeing. I’m _giving_ him the power.

                “Is she okay?” Clint asks quietly.

                “As far as I can tell yes. She’s on strong medication that lowers her internal filter so she may be acting on baser instincts rather than her engrained survival tactics. This…is new, however,” Banner gestures to me and references my silence.

                Bucky takes a step inside and regards me from a closer distance. His hand twitches at his side. He wants to touch me but he’s worried I’ll lash out. I surprise myself by wanting him to touch me. My hand twitches slightly as I raise it. After I examine my blackened fingertips I open and close my hand a couple times to indicate I need something.

Bucky steps closer.

 His hand twitches again.

                I open and close my fist quicker.

                “Use your words doll,” he says lowly.

                I can tell he’s nervous.

                I’m nervous too.

                “Hand,” I mutter.

                Bucky raises his hand closer to mine as his body shifts closer to me. My hand opens and closes more rapidly. Slowly his warm hand slips into mine. Tension drains out of his muscles slowly, as he acclimates to the new human contact. Clint and Steve are watching closely.

                I lift his hand to my face and press my cheek against his warm skin. Submissives gain a lot of peace when in the presence of their dominant, so I was unsurprised to find my eyes drooping and my heart rate slowing.

                “I’ll leave you three to it if you need me just let FRIDAY know,” Banner states.

                His voice sounds muffled.

                “Thanks, Bruce,” Clint says.

                His voice sounds muffled too. Only then do I realize I must’ve lent all the way onto Bucky. Everything is muffled because my ear is pressed against his ribs. Cautiously his metal hand comes down to comb through my hair. I lean into his touch.

                “Someone wore herself out,” he notes above me. His voice vibrates in his chest.

                I realized then they thought I had fallen asleep.

                “Finally,” Clint mutters, but I can hear the faint smile in his voice.

                Bucky weight shifts and my pliant body is being moved so that his bigger one can take over my bed. I was going to complain, but he pulled me close to his warm body once he was settled and any fight I had in me evaporated. His hand returned to my hair and I realized I might actually fall asleep.

                “Do you think she’ll be this calm when the meds wear off?” Bucky asks, his flesh hand rests on my stomach.

                I don’t hear anyone’s reply as the world around falls away to the muted darkness of sleep.

 

 


	4. A History of Forced Obedience Apparently Leads to Fear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is written in third person narrator POV.

The three men were more worried than they cared to admit. This…little girl had walked –more like rolled- into the Avengers tower and 4 days later managed to turn their world upside down. Maria had given Clint a file on all her previous affiliations. He had scanned it once before giving it back to her. He didn’t want SHIELD’s interpretation of her past to interfere with the recovery of her future.

Besides, Clint already knew who she was. The Genovese family and himself were not the best of friends but that didn’t mean he didn’t know all their dirty laundry. Not that Sloan was dirty laundry, but he knew she wasn’t supposed to be alive. The Genovese family had boasted for years, about having only sons. Claiming their family would only grow with the additions of 3 dominant men. Sloan was supposed to be the 4th boy. Clint wasn’t sure if she knew, and he also knew if he was the one to tell her it might ruin any chances he had of being her dominant.

She had fallen asleep hours ago. Bruce had come by and checked her vitals a few times before letting the men know she would be okay to sleep in her own bed. Bucky held her light body, -too light for his liking- and walked with his fellow dominants to the elevator. The ride up to the room was done in comfortable silence. The boys were too engrossed in their thoughts to speak.

                Eventually, Sloan was lying down again, this time dressed in normal clothes and swaddled in warm blankets. Bucky hesitated before leaving the room. The moment they had shared in the lab warmed his heart but he was unsure she’d react the same when she woke up again. So he left the room, cracked the door a smidge and joined the other two men in the kitchen.

                Clint was grabbing a beer from the fridge. Steve was going through his recipe book to decide what to cook tonight. Everything looked as it usually would on a Friday night. The three of them would eat dinner, settle down for a movie and finish it off with rough, impassioned sex. Tonight, however, everyone knew that normal plans would have to change.

                “She’s laying down. I uh dressed her in one your old shirts, Stevie…figured she’d like to wake up to one of our smells,” Bucky states.

                “What if I want her to smell like me? Punk,” Clint teased, turning to him from his spot on the couch.

                "Good thing I put her in your sweatpants,” Bucky grinned.

                He saw the soft appreciation in Clint’s eyes. Steve chuckled and pressed a kiss to Bucky’ temple as he walked to join Clint on the couch.

                “What’s she wearin’ of yours?” Steve asks once he’s settled.

                “I uh…put her in a pair of my boxers,” he said.

                Clint choked on his beer.

                “She didn’t have any underwear!” Bucky whisper-yelled so as to avoid waking the very woman he was talking about.

                "Perv,” Clint scoffed.

                “Shut it birdy,” Bucky growls playfully, joining his two partners on the couch.

                Clint leaned his head against Bucky chest and rested his caves across the tops of Steve’s thighs. The position left Clint warm and the other two men happy. Clint may be the alpha of the three –or 4 now- but he’s still the smallest man. It only makes sense for him to snuggle with his super soldier boyfriends.  

                They lay like that for an hour or two. Steve sketching, Bucky reading, and Clint scrolling through Netflix. For a minute it’s so normal that they all forget about the warm body swaddled in their bed. Once the warm body wakes up, however, they’re quickly reminded.

                “Hullo?” a little voice sounds from somewhere behind the men.

                They tense and slowly turn their heads at the newest member of the Barnes-Barton-Rogers clan. Just like Bucky described, Sloan is wearing one of Steve’s navy blue t-shirts and Clint’s purple and black sweatpants that drag on the floor. The black band of Bucky’ boxers sticks out of the sweatpants adding to her rumbled appearance.

                “Am I invisible? I said hullo!” She pouts.

                Her demeanor is oddly childlike. Her voice is pitched higher. Her frame is slouched so she looks smaller. She looks younger, more innocent, than when the men last saw her. She looks…little.

                “Hi,” Clint says, putting his hand up in an awkward half-wave.

                She seems satisfied with the reaction and takes a couple steps towards the couch. Her green eyes are darting all over the room. The men recognize it as a sign of analyzing her surroundings. She’s finding an exit if she needs to. It’s a tactic the two former-assassins knew all too well. Her hands were clenched at her sides, flexing anxiously.

                “Sloan-“ Bucky started; pausing as she whips her head to the sound of his voice.

                “- do you know where you are?” he finished.

                She paused as if she had to think about it. Her tongue poked past her lips slightly and her nose scrunched up in a rather adorable manner as she sorted through her thoughts.

                “Yes,” she decides with finality.

                Steve would be lying if he didn’t find her response adorable. Her childlike personality and overall rumpled appearance were no doubt adding to the adorableness as well.

                “Where are you then?” Clint asks gently.

                She takes a couple more steps towards the couch. Still checking the walls and windows for quick exits.

                “I’m here,” she gives a toothy smile.

                “Where’s here?” Clint tries.

                “I dunno,” she offers shyly. Her shoulders drop and her bottom lip trembles as if she realized she’s been caught in a lie.

                “C’mere” Clint says, holding his arms over the back of the couch.

                She takes the last couple steps towards the couch. Her eyes searching as she does.

                “We don’t bite,” Clint says when he sees her hesitate to touch him.

                The answer seems good enough to her and she touches her hand to one of Clint’s arms.

                “Warm,” she mumbles.

                “Its a lot warmer here on the couch with all of us,” Bucky offers.

                He chuckles at the excitement that widens her eyes.

                “Warm,” she says again, this time walking around the couch to stand in front of the men.              

                None of them want to make her uncomfortable. They’re all sure lap-sitting would do just that, so they leave space for her small frame. The space goes unfilled however as she’s clambering on Clint’s lap and hugging him tightly.

                “Warm. Soft,” She notes.

                “I am?” Clint asks, tentatively bringing a hand up to run down her back.

                The corners of her mouth lift into a satisfied smile at the contact before she decides to answer.

                “Yes,” she responds with the same finality as before.

                Steve laughs this time.

                “Sloan do you know why you’re here?” Bucky presses, still unsure of where this new childlike persona is coming from.

                “No.” She whispers.

                Bucky had been quiet for most of the interaction. He was thinking through the reasons as to why Sloan might be responding and reacting in the manner that she is. Before Steve and Bucky had gone under, Bucky had been a submissive. He and Steve had experimented with infantilism and age regression every once and awhile. Bucky knew the ropes and the basic structure of a daddy-dom/ little relationship. From what he could gather, this was what Sloan was experiencing.

                It wasn’t unusual for a submissive to partake in age-play or pet-play. Most of them found it helped them sink further into bliss. Sloan being into age-play was hardly a problem. It was communicating her needs and wants that was putting up red flags to Bucky. Usually, there are rules and limits that are discussed before engaging in such a dynamic but Sloan sent all 3 men head first into this one. Now it was a matter of playing catch up.

                Bucky knew that Steve was aware of Sloan’s behavior and what it meant. He also knew the smile on his face that gleamed with fondness was also due to the memories he had of Bucky when he was a submissive. Bucky was pretty sure Clint knew what was going on also. Clint had been a Dominant for a lengthy amount of time. His experience with Coulson and other subs had no doubt introduced him to a cacophony of different submissive lifestyles. So far everyone was adjusting pretty well. So why was everyone waiting for the other shoe to drop?

                “Do you know who we are?” Bucky asks gently, running a flesh finger down her soft arm.

                She nods, her thumb slowly creeping to her mouth, before speaking, “You’re buck, he’s ‘lint and that’s steve.”

                “Good job doll,” Bucky smiles, rubbing circles into her arm gently.

                “The 3 of us were chosen for you because you were placed in a submissive placement program. We are your dominants. Do you know what that word means?” Bucky asks.

                She shook her head gently.

                “Maybe use another word?” Clint offers.

                The two other men looked at Clint cautiously. They knew what other word he was referring too but they didn’t know if Sloan would respond well to it.

                “We’re uh- I mean we were chosen to be your d…daddies.” Bucky tried.

                She perked up at that.

                “oh.” She responds.

                She clearly understood _that_ word

                “So…you take care of me now?”

                “That’s right,” Bucky smiles warmly.

                “ _All of you?”_ She enquires, almost seeming overwhelmed.

                “Yes ma’am” Clint answers.

                “I’ve never had so many daddies,” she responds.

                “Is it too much for you?” Steve questions gently.

                She paused again to think. Her tongue reappeared, a pale pink contrasting between the darker flush of her nervously chewed upon lips. Her nose scrunches up again and she rests her head against Clint’s shoulder, lost in thought.

                “No. I’m a handful,” she stated.

                She sounded like she was reciting something from a book she read. Her voice was soft but monotone, almost as if she wasn’t fully aware of what she said meant. The spell was broken, hwoever, when Steve snorted a laugh.

                “Alright then. Wanna watch cartoons?” Clint chuckled, repositioning her so she was facing the TV.

                “Yes please,” she responds.

                Bucky notices her manners seem carefully rehearsed. She slides off Clint’s lap and settles on her knees. They press into the plush carpet and an intense look of concentration falls upon her features. Instead of facing the TV however, she’s facing the couch and staring at the knees of the three men. Or at least that’s what they thought she was staring at. Clint was searching through Netflix, about to ask Sloan what show she wanted, when he heard Steve give a strangled gasp.

                “Sloan what are you doing!” he all but yelled.

                She froze, fingers on his now undone button and zipper of his pants, and met his eyes. Hers were swimming with fear and fresh unshed tears.

                “I wanna watch cartoons…” she mumbled, her voice wavering.

                “You can doll, but why are your hands on Steve’s zipper?” Bucky asks gently.

                Bucky had an idea of what was going to happen, but he wanted to understand Sloan’s interpretation of it.

                “I gotta earn it…I don’t wanna be a bad girl,” she whimpers, her fingers shaking fiercely as she resumes trying to get Steve out of his pants.

                Clint swore he saw red. Steve had a sick feeling in his gut. Bucky was beside himself with anger and worry.

                “No Sloan its okay. You don’t need to do that for him,” Bucky tried.

                Tears spilled across her cheeks as her hands stilled again.

                “But I want to watch cartoons. I’m sorry daddy please…let me help you! I’ll be good I promise!” she pleads to Steve.

                Steve swears his heart broke in his chest. Sloan was fully sobbing now. Her heads shaking and pulling at his khaki pants. He gently brought his hands down to hers and held them in his. Her green eyes were swimming with tears, her cheeks flushed with exertion, and her chest was heaving with sobs.

                “C’mere Sloan,” he tried gently.

                A blood-curdling scream almost made him drop her hands. All three men flinched and watched they young woman before them dissolve into shivers and pleads. The woman that had walked into their lives 4 days ago was not the woman they were looking at now. This woman was broken, no doubt marred, by her past life. Abuse echoed in every scream that broke free from her chest.

                “NO! NO! I promise! I promise I’ll be good! Don’t hit me, don’t hit me, don’t hit me please. Please. Please don’t hit me-“ she was shaking and rocking herself. She yanked her hands away from Steve’s gentle grip and instead clawed at his waistband.

                Her eyes held so much fear. She continued her mantra. Her rocking and shaking.

                “Pleasedonthitme. Pleasedon’thitme. Pleasepleaseplease.” She whispered to herself.

                She screamed again in frustration when Steve’s pants continued to stay on.

                “Sloan…baby. Stop. Please,” Steve brought his hands to hers again.

                Tremors had moved through her entire body. Steve felt ice and fire on his hands and winced painfully but refused to lighten his grip.

                “Look at me princess, look at daddy,” he said over the sound of her wailing screams.

                “C’mon Sloan just look at Steve. It’s okay,” Clint ran a hand through her hair.

                Her green eyes met his blue ones and for the second time that hour, Steve Roger’s heart broke.

                Eventually, the pain in Steve’s hand lessened, and the tremors in her arms calmed to slight intermittent shakes. Her sobs quieted and the heaves in her chest grew less and less. She was sniffling and shaking intermittently before Steve hastened a glance at his two partners. He’d never seen such raw fear in someone’s eyes. Sloan was terrified.

                “Okay, it’s okay. No one is going to hurt you, you’re not in trouble Sloan.” Clint soothes, running a gentle hand down her arm.

                “ImsorryImsorryImsorryImsorry,” She whimpers, her tremors beginning again.

                Steve scoops her up and holds her to his chest tightly. Soothing her in preparation for another panic attack. She was slowly relaxing in his grip, focusing on the soothing whispers from Steve in her ear.

                “It’s okay, just breathe angel. Breathe.” He soothes; rubbing her back in slow, wide, circles.

                Bucky stands slowly to avoid startling her and goes to the kitchen to grab a water. On his way back he grabs his hoodie. He holds the water out to Clint and lays the hoodie on Sloan’s knees. He runs his flesh hand along the top of her head to brush the hair away from her forehead. Clint positions the lip of the glass near her mouth and watches to make sure she takes some sips.

                “Drink baby,” Steve encourages.

                She starts swallowing cold mouthfuls of water, nearly finishing the glass in one sitting.

                “Good girl,” Clint praises.

                Clint swears he saw a tiny smile tug at her mouth.               

.-.-.-.

                2 hours later, Sloan was calmly watching cartoons in Steve’s lap. Her head was resting on his left shoulder and his face was burrowed in his neck just enough that she could still see. Her left hand stretched across her chest to fist his shirt. It was obvious she was soaking up the comfort that Steve’s presence was bringing her. Bucky and Clint were watching the interaction with soft but tense smiles. Every once and while Steve would whisper something in her ear or kiss her temple and the boys would fall in love all over again.

                The scream had alerted every Avenger in the compound that something was desperately wrong. Natasha and Sam had arrived first. The others filed in later. Clint and Bucky explained the situation as best they could, because quite frankly they weren’t sure they understood it themselves. Bruce had come in and checked as much as she could from the confinement of Steve’s lap. Natasha had pulled the men aside and with Tony’s help threatened them within an inch of their lives if they laid a hand on her. Wanda had soothed the horrible imagery supposedly running through her head. 

                Neither Clint or Bucky wanted to accept the reality of the situation, simply because it was a horrible reality to have to accept. It was clear however that Sloan had experienced awful, demeaning abuse.

                The other shoe had finally dropped.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter, like the last one, is written in third person narrator.

Once the metaphorical dust had metaphorically settled on the non-metaphoric situation of the night, the boys began to feel the gravity of it. Sure, the ball of dread that had been steadily growing since Sloan had begun messing with Steve’s zipper had given them an idea of what she’d been through; but it was only an idea. Clint and Bucky had eventually rejoined Sloan and Steve on the couch, hoping to talk some of this through with her. Unfortunately, it seemed that Sloan wouldn’t be leaving her headspace anytime soon.

                It was around 8 at night when her stomach growled. She looked surprised by the noise and even more surprised to discover she had made it. Her reaction helped lighten the dark mood that had been steadily growing once the other Avengers had left.

                “Food.” Was her first word since she had gone silent in Steve’s arms.

                “Oh yeah? What kind?” Steve murmured in her ear, bringing a shy smile to her face.

                “All of it.” She answered.

                “All of the food? You must have a super stomach if you’re gonna eat all of the food,” Bucky teased, enjoying the small giggle that she released.                                                              

                “All of it!” She chirped again, punctuating her phrase with a clap of her hands.

                “Well that would take awhile and it’s getting rather late. What about…pizza?” Clint tried.

                He didn’t think she could ever look that excited again after seeing her so broken before.

                “Yes!” She cheered.

                Clint thought she was a woman after his own heart.

                “Wait no,”

                Clint thought maybe not.

                “We have to get all of it,” she said.

                “Well duh,” Clint supplied.

                She gave him the cutest smile he’d ever seen.

                _Yep, I’m whipped._ He thought.

                “I gotta get up to order the pizza munchkin, wanna sit with Clint or Bucky?” Steve asked.

                The look of panic on her face left the boys feeling like she was going to have another panic attack. It suddenly became evident to Clint that Sloan was a little who responded better to direction rather than choice.

                “Come sit with me pipsqueak, Bucky and I can keep you company while Steve gets us food,” Clint said.

                She responded much more calmly to that.

                “Okay papa,” she clambered over to Clint.

                Sloan settled on Clint’s lap in a similar position to how she sat on Steve’s, except this time she laid her head on Cint’s right shoulder so she could also look at Bucky and Steve who stood in the kitchen with the phone to his ear. Clint placed a soft kiss on her temple and returned his attention to the 15th episode of whatever cartoon Sloan was enamored with.

                Mid-way through the episode, Sloan reached up and stuck the tip of her thumb between her lips. None of them were sure what her headspace age was but they knew enough to realize that her thumb-sucking was a search for comfort. Clint wrapped his arm tighter around her and whispered a series of small praises into her ear, bringing a giggle and smile to her face.

                Slowly her thumb left her mouth and Bucky made a note to take her shopping for comfort items. Right now everything was new and born out of unpredictable panic attacks but as time went on it became clear that Sloan spent a lot of time in her younger headspace. Discussing her likes and dislikes would have to come up in the next conversation.

                To Bucky’s surprise, he was brought out of his thoughts by a warm, wet, tentatively probing mouth latching onto his flesh and bone thumb. If the mouth had belonged to a non-head-spaced Sloan or a horny Clint or Steve then undoubtedly Bucky would’ve welcomed the spark running up his spine, but the mouth belonged to a very young Sloan seeking comfort from her daddy and the spark was wholly inappropriate. Bucky set aside the spark and moved closer to Clint to accommodate the little girl sucking his thumb like a pacifier. His metal hand reached over to brush some strands of hair off her forehead and for the first time in 4 days, Sloan looked at peace.

                Even though Bucky thought Sloan looked beautiful always, it was obvious to him she was the most pretty this way; blissed out and infantile like.

.-.-.-.

                The night was coming to a seemingly quiet end. Sloan had dozed off with Bucky’s thumb in her mouth and Clint’s lips on her temple but the alert from FRIDAY for the pizza had woken her. She wasn’t young enough that she had to cry to express unhappiness, but it was evident from her -adorably- disgruntled pout that she’d rather be sleeping.

                Half-way through dinner, the men realized Sloan hadn’t touched her food and unease drifted around the living room.

                “Sloan…are you hungry?” Steve asked.

                She nodded.

                “You’re allowed to eat.” Bucky encouraged.

                The skeptical look in her expression created a small ball of dread in his stomach. She nodded again, slower this time, and slid off Clint’s lap into the space between him and Bucky. Steve and Clint were more interested in the cartoon than Sloan – to Bucky’s surprise- and didn’t see the flash of fear that reflected in Sloan’s eyes.

                Bucky watched Sloan process her thoughts. If the ball of dread in his stomach wasn’t growing as every minute passed he might find it cute. However, it wasn’t cute and it had been 3 minutes since Steve asked if she was hungry and 2 since Bucky said she was allowed to eat.

                “Can you move the plate?” She asked softly.

                Her voice was still child-like, but the question was asked in a softer, pleading tone. Bucky looked down at his lap and slowly moved the plate.

                _She just wants to sit on your lap like she did with Clint. Don’t be so paranoid Barnes._ He told himself.

                Once his plate was next to hers on the coffee table. She slowly leaned towards his crotch. The speed wasn’t to tease, the speed was a result of fear and distaste. Her shaking fingers had already pulled the zipper of his pants half-way down before Bucky realized what was happening.

                Bucky, upon this realization, was determined to make sure there was significantly less screaming and less panicking from Sloan.

                Slowly, he pulled her fingers away and wrapped her hands around his flesh one.

                “Sloan. No.” He chided softly.

                “B-but…I’ve been good! I cuddled and watched TV and I was quiet. I just wanna eat…” she does the one thing Bucky wanted to avoid, and panics.

                Her hands shake harder and she fights as hard as she can against Bucky’s hand but he doesn’t budge. Her body is vibrating with tremors. The tears are front and center. Her throat is raw from screaming earlier but by god she _just wants to eat. Why couldn’t they just fucking let her do her job so she could eat!?_  

                “You’re allowed to eat,” Bucky repeats slowly.

                “Then let me do it!” She snaps.

                Bucky doesn’t know why he snapped. Maybe it was the anger he felt towards whoever fucked up Sloan. Or the guilt he felt for having to keep her from eating because he wasn’t going to let her blow him so she could have her dinner.

                “Do what? You can’t even say it, Sloan!” Bucky snapped back.

                “Buck-“ Steve began.

                “Just let me do it! I want to eat!” She cries.

                “Then fucking eat!” He yelled, slamming his metal fist on the wooden coffee table.

                It splintered with a loud crack. The crack echoed in a now silent apartment where now the only movement was 4 pairs of eyes dancing betwixt each other. Sloan slowly removes her hands from Bucky’s and goes to the hem of her shirt. In a swift movement, her top half is bared to the three men before her. She turns and kneels on the carpet so her upper torso is stretched across the couch.

                Her back is littered with old scars.

                “I’m sorry.” She says.

                Her voice isn’t child-like anymore.

                It's completely, unmistakably, adult.

                An adult who the men have come to realize; is very, very broken.


	6. Healing Open Wounds, Often Leads to Scars

Bucky wasn't sure when Clint and Steve had taken Sloan to bed. He had sat and stared at the couch where she had revealed herself for what seemed like hours. He knew his anger had gotten the best of him. His guilt had overtaken him and as a result, he could ruin any chances he had of being Sloan or anybody's Dominant for a very long time. He's just grateful his morals aren't so weak that he would just wail off and hit her. Although it seems like somebody has already done that, multiple times, to her.

Bucky was confused as to how he missed the scarring on her back. How Bruce missed it. Sure they were white now but any of them knew what old scars looked like. The lines were jagged and long. Some of them overlapped one another. Some were deeper and longer than others. Some were fresher than others but they were all at least 4 to 5 years old. The scarring, mental and physical, has lasted longer than the actions inflicted upon her and Bucky is almost sure the person who did this to her hasn't suffered for his crime.

Bucky is engrossed in his thoughts when Steve returns from the bedroom. Clint is absent. Bucky wasn't an idiot. He knew what it meant when his partner didn't want to check on him.

"How angry is he?" Bucky rasps.

"More than you want to know," Steve answers grimly.

Bucky winces. His heart clenches painfully in his chest.

"How is she?" Bucky asks.

"Asleep. She's too traumatized to even react to anything," Steve says.

Bucky knows Steve would never lie to him. But just for once Bucky wishes he would.

"Steve, look I'm sorry-"

"It's not you that traumatized her." He interrupts softly.

Bucky shuts his mouth.

"When she was panicking before dinner, I saw raw fear in her eyes, Buck. Raw fear. She was terrified I was gonna hit her or somethin'. The way she reacted at dinner? That was the same thing. She was terrified…but not of you. Not of me. Not of Clint. She was having flashbacks." Steve explains.

"How can you know,"

"I know what PTSD looks like Buck. So do you. So does Clint. Someone did that to her," Steve points at the bedroom door harshly.

"The way I yelled at her Stevie…"

"Okay, so you lost your cool. We all lose our cool sometimes. You were panicking. She was panicking. She tried to suck your dick because she thought she wouldn't get dinner if she didn't. I freaked out when it happened too," Steve amends.

"I'm a fuckin' idiot Stevie. I mean, Christ, I thought she wanted my lap free so she could  _sit in it._ Not so she could disrespect herself for food!"

Dread settled in his bones as he trailed off his sentence.

Someone had forced her to disrespect herself for food. Someone hadn't cared if it left her broken or not. Now it was up to the 3 men in apartment 4A of the Avengers Compound to put her back together without fucking her up worse in the process.

So far it seemed like everyone was off to a rough start.

"So is Clint…mad at me?" Bucky asks.

He felt pathetic for asking.

"No, he's mad at whoever hurt her. I'm mad at whoever hurt her. He understands you are too,"

Bucky nodded.

"Did she fall asleep easy?" he asks.

"No, she uh, wouldn't close her eyes until Clint crawled in with her. They're probably both asleep by now."

"D'ya think I should join,"

"It'll only make things worse if you start pushin' her away. She'll start thinkin' she messed up," Steve supplied.

"I'll sleep on the outside of the pile tonight, you and Clint can warm her up," he continued.

Bucky wondered if it was a good idea briefly, but the exhaustion pulling on his body couldn't care less. So he stood, turned off the lights in the living room, and followed Steve to the bedroom.

.-.-.-.

Morning came slowly. The sun rose over the horizon, slowly painting the landscape in gold and orange. The world began waking up; birds chirping, lawn mowers starting, and the faint sound of someone starting coffee downstairs echoed through the halls. Sloan sat at the edge of the bed, confused and exhausted, trying to piece together the events from the past couple days.

Sloan knew she had slipped into her headspace. She knew she had probably shown men she knew nothing about her softest side. She knew she had questions to answer.

Sloan also knew she hadn't had a cigarette in 5 days.

Slowly, so as not to wake the tangled mass of men behind her, she stood and walked towards the small pile of things near the door. The black packaging of her Marlboro cigarettes stood in stark contrast to the white of her old hospital gown.

 _Why did they let me keep these?_ She thought.

Her legs shook as she bent down to retrieve the package. Her body was  _so_ weak. Now carrying her nearly-empty pack of cigarettes, Sloan turned towards the living room. She remembered where the balcony was. A series of quiet steps and closing doors brought her to the balcony in a matter of seconds.

She felt calm on the balcony. The clean air of Upstate New York brushed across her collarbone and cheeks. It caught in her hair and ruffled the already rumpled clothes on her form. She enjoyed the clean air for a minute or two before fishing out a cigarette and lighting it.

The air didn't smell clean anymore, but the smoke tasted  _so good._  Sloan knew that super-soldiers, like the ones she fell asleep next to last night, would catch on to the smoke as soon as it wafted inside. She also knew she didn't care.

Sloan smoked the cigarette down to its filter and flicked the filter over the rail; leaving the pack outside when she went in. The apartment was just as quiet as when she woke up and Sloan wondered if the men would notice if she left. There was no point in leaving, however. She had been placed in a program developed by SHIELD and collaborated on by the NGMS (National Group for Mistreated Subs) and if she suddenly decided to disappear they would send multiple, well-trained agents to find her. She mulled over the ways she could escape while shuffling to the kitchenette for coffee.

As she was searching through the cupboards for filters and coffee-grounds, the smell of fresh coffee wafted into the room. The faint sounds of chatter drifted from downstairs and Sloan sighed at the realization of her having to  _socialize_. The coffee was already made downstairs and she didn't feel like risking a punishment by turning the kitchen upside down for a cup of caffeine. A sigh leaves her lips as she shuffles to the door of the apartment.

She opens it quietly and slips out in search of coffee before the door can even shut behind her. She's about mid-way through her elevator ride when she realizes she might not be allowed to leave the apartment. In her rush to satisfy a slowly growing caffeine headache, she had potentially created the same problem for herself that she hoped this elevator trip could've avoided in the first place.

The irony tugged at her already exhausted bones as she left the elevator once it reached the bottom floor. She stepped into the common area slowly, letting her eyes scan for possible escape routes and possible threats. Her eyes kept scanning as she walked further into the room, towards the kitchen. Faint conversation filtered through the open floor plan of the living room but it wasn't clear enough for Sloan to pick out individual speakers.

Her appearance in the kitchen resolved this problem, however, because as soon as her bare foot crossed the threshold into the kitchen, all conversation halted.

Natasha and Sam sat at the island, coffee cups in front of both of them, while Wanda stood by the coffee maker, stirring creamer into her cup. Their eyes met hers apprehensively, it was obvious they were unsure of what to do.

"Any coffee left?" Sloan asks softly.

Wanda casts a glance at the nearly empty pot.

"Yeah, want me to make you a cup?" Wanda offers, already grabbing another cup.

"I can get it," Sloan tries.

"No it's okay, I'm already here. Don't worry  _draga_ ," she smiles warmly at the disheveled woman.

"Thank you," Sloan's voice had dropped to a hoarse whisper in surprise.

Natasha smiled warmly at Wanda, a familiar twinkle in her eye. It didn't take a well-trained eye to see that Natasha and Wanda were very much a thing. Sam was watching Sloan with soft eyes as she observed the others interact.

"How are you feeling," Natasha asked suddenly, drawing her attention away from Wanda.

"I uh…I'm well…I guess." Sloan pauses, "have we…talked before?" she askes suddenly.

Sloan didn't mean for the question to come off as rude, she just honestly didn't remember how she and Natasha had gotten so comfortable in a day. Wanda handed her a cup of black coffee, sending her another warm smile when Sloan excepted it graciously.

"You don't remember?" Natasha asked slowly.

Fear spiked through Sloan's heart and she was spiraling all over again. The question had been posed to her 1 to many times in her lifetime, usually, after her father had sent her on exceptionally long 'errands' that drained her powers and made her black out. The last time Sloan had been asked that she was sitting in a puddle of her own, day old blood, with a gunshot in her shoulder and a discarded knife near her leg. Her fingertips had gone numb from overuse.

"No…I…uh don't," Sloan took a long sip of her coffee.

A look of pain crossed Sloan's face before she opened her mouth again.

"Did I kill someone?"

That question had arisen too many times from Sloan's mouth than she would've liked in her lifetime. That being said it was always the necessary answer to the first most asked question Sloan was asked. It was Sloan's way of knowing whether she should feel guilty or not, even though her lack of memories made her feel guilty enough.

"No, but I think you should talk to the boys. They understand better than us and it might be best to hear it from them anyways." Sam offered, seeing the flash of anger across Nat's figures.

Sloan assumed the anger was directed at her so she didn't ask.

"Yeah, I'll go do that. Thanks for the coffee-" Sloan broke off, embarrassed.

"Wanda," the brunette replied.

"Thanks, Wanda," Sloan nodded before turning on her heel towards the elevator doors.

The ride up to her the apartment was a tense one for Sloan. She sipped her coffee tensely, her mind was running a mile a minute as she processed the morning's already confusing events.

_What did I do?_

The elevator doors open to a very angry looking Bucky and Sloan feels her coffee turn uncomfortably in her stomach.

"Where were you," he questions.

Sloan steps out of the elevator, leveling her gaze to his chin. She was tired of challenging Dom's.

"Kitchen, getting coffee. Wanda helped me,"

"Why didn't you wake one of us up?"

"Figured you would wanna stay asleep…I didn't want to piss any one off," Sloan didn't say it, but the 'again' was faintly implied.

Bucky didn't respond; he sighed deeply and put his hand on the small of her back, leading her into the apartment. Steve was sitting at the counter, newspaper in hand, sipping a cup of something that Sloan couldn't identify. Clint was stumbling out of the bathroom, shirtless, rubbing his face. He picked up the fresh pot of coffee from the coffee maker and took a deep swig.

Sloan winced, sipping her own black coffee.

"We have coffee upstairs," Bucky finally said.

Sloan toed at the carpet with a bare foot.

"Didn' wanna make a mess and get punished,"

"You can't make coffee without making a mess?" Bucky questioned softly.

"No, I can make coffee just fine and keep everything clean. I didn't know where the grounds and filters were." She mumbled.

"They're in the pantry," Bucky said.

"I'll remember that next time," Sloan muttered.

Clint was halfway done with his pot of coffee and looking a little more aware. Steve hadn't moved since they walked in, save for the occasional sip of coffee. Sloan took another swallow of coffee before breaking away from Bucky's touch to set her mug on the bar. Bucky watched her movement's carefully, the faint smell of cigarette smoke hung in the air, clinging to her clothes and hair. Bucky wasn't an idiot, he saw the cigarette pack on top of her stuff when it got brought up; but the fact that Sloan had already gone through so much made him want to grant her this small courtesy, no matter how unhealthy it was.

"So, what's for breakfast?" Bucky asks, patting Steve on the back to get his attention.

"Dunno, leftovers I guess," Steve shrugged.

Bucky looked at Sloan who was staring at some books on their book shelf. He grimaced at the thought of offering her the choice between 2-day old Chinese food or cold pizza. Sure the three men could get by just fine shoving it down their throats, but from the looks of it Sloan was severely undernourished and 2 slices of maybe-not-moldy pizza from the place down the street wasn't going to do her any good.

"What about something more substantial?" Bucky hinted.

Steve looked up at Bucky, eyebrows drawn in confusion. Bucky motioned towards Sloan who's still staring at the books. Steve's eyebrows lowered and he gazed in soft concern at the young lady, who looked as though she was actively trying to ignore the blatant staring at her from behind. She was looking through an old art book Steve owned, smiling faintly at a picture of an oil painting done of Venice. Steve's heart swelled in his chest and he felt the urge to make sure the broken young woman was well educated on art and well fed, by the end of the week.

"Oh. Uh, pancakes?" Steve asked, breaking his stare.

"Yum," Clint responded, finishing off his pot of coffee. He set it in the sink and looked to Sloan.

"You eating Sloan?" Clint asked.

Bucky and Steve froze, looking to Clint in panic. However, he looked unconcerned.

"Do I have a choice?" Sloan enquired.

"No," Clint said, just as Steve said "Yes," and Bucky said, "Maybe."

Sloan turned to them, confused.

"So which is it?"

"No, you don't have a choice, you need food," Clint decided.

Sloan just shrugged and sat next to Steve, now toting a book about WWII, in front of the mug she set down previously. She opened the book and started reading, tuning out everyone else in the room.

"Pancakes it is then," Steve sighed, standing to make them.

They waited for protest from Sloan, staring at her cautiously. Eventually, the unrequited staring match grew uncomfortably long and they accepted that Sloan had obeyed Clint. The thought alone sent a warm jolt through Clint's stomach. Maybe Sloan wouldn't be trouble after all.

Clint Barton had never been so wrong.


	7. Recollecting a Series of Rather Unfortunate Events

“So what happened last night,” Sloan blurted in the middle of breakfast.

                Clint stopped drinking from his cup, mid-swallow. Bucky froze, the syrup in his hand somehow stilling as well. Steve stopped with a bite of pancake and bacon half-way to his mouth.

                “Geez, that bad?” Sloan muttered, staring at her half-eaten stack of pancakes.

                She didn’t realize she was that hungry.

                “No, uh, we just assumed you knew,” Bucky coughed.

                Their movements resumed slowly. The fact that the men were walking on eggshells around her made her want to scream, but she knew she was the reason they were acting so cautiously, so she didn’t dare comment on it.

                “I obviously don’t,” She snapped softly.

                Steve shot her a hard look that shut her mouth.

                “You slipped in your headspace, that’s what they call it now right? I’ve been out of the game for awhile,” Clint offered.

                “But you’re a Dom,” Sloan countered.

                “Not all the Sub’s I’ve catered to enjoy being little,” Clint replied smoothly.

                Sloan closed her mouth again, feeling slightly embarrassed at her bluntness.

                “Have you been little with all of your Dom’s in the past?” Clint asked.

                “It’s all in my file I’m sure,” Sloan grunted, stabbing at her pancakes angrily.

                “Your file didn’t mention anything about your headspace, there were more than a couple hospital visits documented, however,” Clint said.

                “Figures,” Sloan scoffed.

                Steve and Bucky looked at each other, concern and surprise etched into her features.

                “Have you been-“ Clint began again.

                “No, only one.” Sloan cut him off.

                Clint gestured for Sloan to continue. She sighed heavily and took the last bite of the pancake before shoving the plate away from her. She stared at the now empty space in front of her, her eyes swimming with an unidentifiable emotion.

                “Who,” Steve asked, breaking the silence.

                “He’s dead, why does it matter,” Sloan muttered.

                “Dead?” Clint asked.

                “As a doornail,”

                “How” Clint pressed.

                Sloan just raised her pitch black hands.

                “You killed him,” Clint said with finality. It wasn’t a question.

                “Bingo,” Sloan muttered, moving to get up from her spot.

                She was standing to leave when a hunch Clint had bubbled up from his mouth.

                “How many of your Dom’s knew you were a Sub,” Clint asked.

                Sloan froze halfway to the bedroom. Her shoulders tensed, her fists clenched at her sides. She wanted nothing more than to turn around and punch that all-knowing asshole in his face.

                “Just him.” Sloan groundout.

                “And he…” Clint began, assuming Sloan knew the rest of the story.

                “He…” Sloan trailed off, confused as to what she was supposed to be answering too.

                “He forced you to go down on him before you ate?” Clint finished softly.

                The question wasn’t really a question. Hell, it wasn’t even phrased as a question. Clint _knew_ the truth. He just needed Sloan to confirm – well – not even confirm it. He needed Sloan to admit it to herself. He needed a physical representation of want – no – need to get better.

                Sloan nodded and then winced because maybe she shouldn’t have admitted that to him so quickly. Although something in Sloan told her that he already knew.

                “How many times,” Steve blurted. He had the nerve to look embarrassed afterward.

                “Enough times,” Sloan said knowingly.

                The men tried hard not to think about what that meant.

                “Do you go into your headspace often?” Bucky questioned.

                “Uh…when I was with him I did. I used it as my escape from all the shit going on around me. He tried to help ya know, at least initially. He would take me out of my big head space and let me be little. Be free, rather. Eventually, he just got bored with me and started playing games. Little me trusted him so much, and I refused to believe he would do me wrong. I realized later I was an idiot,” Sloan said.

                She hadn’t meant to say such personal things, especially so quickly after meeting these men but they let her into their home and made sure she was dressed and fed, so she owed them the truth. At least this much of it.     

                When Sloan had fallen silent in front of the men, her eyes filled with an unreadable emotion and her brow furrowed, they saw a side of her they never thought they’d see. The open, vulnerable side. Sure they saw it before when she was in her headspace, but this was _her._ Raw and untouched.

                “C’mere,” Clint said softly.

                His eyes were swimming with the same unreadable emotion.

                Sloan went. She didn’t know why she didn’t even question the authority in Clint’s voice. She just went. He wrapped her in his sinewy arms and tucked her thin figure against his warm chest. He rested his chin on her head and she tucked her face into his neck. She took deep slow breaths and Clint could tell she was trying not to cry.

                “Let it go,” Clint soothed softly, rubbing her back in soft, slow circles.

                “I can’t”

                “Why not,”

                “I don’t want you to think I’m weak,”     

                “Crying doesn’t make you weak. I cry, Steve cries, hell even grumpy-old-man Bucky cries. But don’t tell him I told you,” Clint murmured in her ear.

                “I heard that you asshole,” Bucky chuckles from the bar.

                Sloan giggled softly and buried her face further into Clint’s neck, wet tears falling onto his shoulder.  

                “There you go, let it out sweet girl,” Clint coos.

                And Sloan sobs. The dam just breaks and suddenly her tears are soaking his shirt. Muffled wails are echoing faintly through the room. Bucky and Steve watch as her shoulders shake and her legs nearly give out from the weight of her emotion just coming off shoulders. Bucky has tears in his eyes, watching her fall apart. Steve feels a sob bubble up in his chest but he knows this moment is about her, not him, so he suppresses it and waits to deal with it later.  

                Sloan crumples. Her knees give beneath her and gravity begins to take her to down to the hard floor. Clint catches her holds her up, looping his arms around her middle and beneath her butt. It’s almost like he’s coddling a toddler (which if you think about it, isn’t too far off). Then he’s rocking her, well, he’s swaying her and humming a tune softly into her ear. It's pure. All too pure for the dirtied and rugged Clint Barton. But he was too much of a nice guy to let her down, so he allowed himself the possible future ridicule to earn the small victory of calming Sloan down.

                She did, eventually, calm down. It took several instructed upon deep breaths (“breathe in, and out”) and the soothing pattern of rubbing circles onto her back from Clint before they got there, but they got there all the same. He carried her to the couch (the other two men watching aptly from their solid positions by the kitchen) and sat her down, before squatting below her line of sight (level with her knees) in front of her.

Sloan looked down at him tearfully. At this point she wasn’t even sure what she had been crying about, all she knew was that she _had_ to cry. Admittedly it _had_ felt good to let the tears out, but Sloan knew – a feeling of dread settling in the pit of her unusually full stomach – that there were more tears in her somewhere, and they’d come bubbling out soon enough. The realization almost brought tears to her eyes, but she was _so tired_ of crying and whimpering. Her resolve had hardened itself into an emotionless wall, yet Clint Barton had taken it down in a matter of minutes. A man she had only read about in reports from her father or newspaper articles detailing the many successes – and failures – of the Avengers had taken down her 20 or so years worth of carefully constructed walls that kept her warm and safe.

And she hated him for it.

But there was something else brewing beneath the hate. Something warmer than the spike of cold hatred icing her hard exterior…something decidedly more pleasant but currently unreachable. Whether it was actually unreachable or just currently being avoided, Sloan didn’t know, but she knew it was there. And it was enough to terrify her.

Clint was still squatting in front of her, his blue eyes reflecting concern and his lips quirked in a small encouraging smile. His hands were wrapped loosely around her ankles, rubbing small, slow circles into the flesh peeking out from beneath his obnoxiously purple sweatpants that dwarfed her too-small lower half.

“Don’t,” Sloan muttered.

Clint’s fingers stilled. His brows knotted together in confusion, and his eyes projected neutral (although Sloan knew he was undoubtedly hurt at least slightly) as if he was preparing himself to be rejected, _again_ , by her.

“Don’t…try and fix me okay? I can…handle my self. I appreciate the pancakes and the hugs…but it doesn’t make what I did, who I am, any better.” Sloan finished.

Clint’s eyes went soft with concern again.

                Whatever Clint planned on saying was interrupted by the nearly-soundless footsteps of Steve and Bucky, who sat on either side of Sloan. Their warmth gave her comfort, something she’d been getting a lot of recently, and she wanted to lean into it. _But she couldn’t_. Because if she did she’d be giving herself away too easily the strongest men she’d ever met and she couldn’t be broken again. She couldn’t let another group of men ragdoll her into submission based on their strength alone, never mind their general air of dominance. She couldn’t let what her father did to her happen again. But by god it was hard.

                These men before her and around her were genuine. They meant well. They had promised (on an official document no less) to take care of her and to make sure she was alive and stayed that way. Yet Sloan felt trapped. Locked in a constant embrace that was suffocating her more and more by the minute. Sure the men meant well now but what happens when they stop meaning well? What happens when their “I mean well,” serves as justification for why various bruises begin littering her skin? What happens when they betray her trust one too many times and she has to leave because if she doesn’t they could end up dead, or worse, she could. What happens then?

                Sloan wasn’t prepared to find out but the reality of the situation is that she couldn’t leave. She couldn’t go home (because her old home was no longer an option for her) and leave the men behind. She would be hunted down and locked up before she even left the sidewalk. She would have to stay if it meant protecting herself, but she didn’t have to like it.

                The same blue eyes that stared up at her, reflecting concern, watched as the anger clouded Sloan’s gaze and hardened her stare. He watched fear trickle in and felt her physically pull away from him. He watched the woman that was so intent on being loved, curl up and die, replacing a hard shell in its place. He felt his heart constrict, he saw Bucky and Steve take equally deep and despaired breaths, and Clint realized something with a sad certainty.

                They were back to square one.

                And this time it was gonna be a hard, long ride.


	8. The Beginning Seems Endless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is so short, but it's kind of a filler chapter to tie in the events that take place between the time that Sloan tells them to leave her alone and the time she gets back to them. Fluff at the end, sorta.

Sloan absolutely _loathed_ them. The three men that took up residence in her head. The three men that spent weeks after Sloan shut down, caring for her and feeding her and making sure she slept every night. They had Tony expand their already sizeable apartment to include two extra rooms, _both for her!_ A bedroom and an empty room, both granted all access to Sloan. The rooms had keypads and alarm systems and everything. If Sloan wanted to lock the men out of her room she very well could and a couple times she had. Not that it mattered. The three fucking assholes never knocked on her door when it was locked. They never stood outside and demanded she come out. They never overrode the code (although admittedly 123 wasn’t a very hard code to override) or ripped the bolts off the doors. They respected her boundaries and left her alone. And goddamit if that didn’t make her want to leave her room and find them, more than she already sort of did.

                She didn’t want to admit it to herself, or anyone else for that matter, that she had been growing a soft spot for the men the moment she saw them at that stupid conference table. Sure the soft spot had hardened a little when she decided to ice out the men _at all costs_ but it was softening by the minute and growing larger by the second. The once ‘soft spot’ was now very well a ‘soft hole’ in the center of her chest that ached when she was locking herself away in seclusion.       

                Sloan blamed her need to interact with other humans for the sake of her powers. She needed human contact every once and awhile so she wouldn’t lose them, and it was a perfect excuse to keep her from admitting the reality of the situation to herself. The days where she did hole herself away in her room, however, were days spent mastering her powers or surfing the internet for various items. Stark was funding her stay here so she might as well use some of the cash she’s been given. She never bought anything sexual (despite a pressing need in her lower half to do _something_ about the fact she hasn’t gotten laid in well over a couple months) in case one of the boys decided to open up her packages. The effort was fruitless, however, because the boys were annoyingly respectful of her privacy. Even if she only came out of her room to get packages, barely sparing them a glance.

                They never forced food down her throat, but there was always food on the stove or counter (or in the fridge if she was feeling particularly isolationist) during meal times. They never came into her room to tell her to go to bed, but if she fell asleep on the couch they would take her to their room and tuck her in before having a sleepover in the living room. They never openly declared their feelings for her, but she didn’t miss the warm affection in their eyes when she would come out of her room, or the smile on their face if she laughed. They were all assholes. Giant, caring, handsome, kind, respectful-of-Sloan’s-boundaries, supersoldier (or archer in Clint’s case) assholes. And Sloan was slowly feeling less and less inclined to continue icing them out. Not that she’d tell them that.

                During the near-month she had spent, mostly isolating but occasionally socializing with the men; Sloan had more or less become reacquainted with her powers, bought a new wardrobe (although the clothes the men gave her were incredibly comfortable), completely redecorated her room, gained nearly 20 pounds (putting her at 117 lbs instead of her previous 97), and had become annoyingly fond of the men in apartment 4A. So, when the month came to a close. Sloan left her room and didn’t lock the door behind her.

                It was mid-morning, near afternoon when a barefoot Sloan crept into the living room. She had fallen asleep around 2 am, her thoughts of the men keeping her awake, and was still wearing Bucky’s shirt and the shorts she had slept in. According to her StarkPhone (another gift from Tony), it was a Saturday, so the chances of the men being around were higher than usual. She usually emerged from her room once a week, during the week, so the men didn’t get to see her a lot. Thus the reason for their surprised faces when she plopped down on the couch right next to Clint in the middle of an otherwise uneventful morning.

                “House Hunters? Really?” Sloan teased, glancing at the TV.

                Steve, the only man who hadn’t been aware of her presence, jumped slightly from his chair adjacent to the couch. He frowned, looking down at a stray mark he made on his sketch, before looking back up at Sloan in surprise. Bucky who had been happily enjoying his lazy near-afternoon with his boys looked at Sloan with a slightly calculating (but mostly ridiculously happy that she was sitting with them) gaze. Clint just chuckled softly and gently pulled Sloan close to him, breathing a sigh of relief when she willingly went and tucked her face into his neck.

                “Glad to have you back kid,”

               


	9. Chapter 9

Okay, so the men of apartment 4A weren’t _all_ that bad. They were, for the most part, laid back Dom’s that only enforced rules when they had to. A huge change of scenery for Sloan who was all too used to the asshole Doms that screamed at their subs constantly. Sloan had to give it to him, because since her self-decided escape from her near the month of seclusion she had, admittedly, been a bit of a brat. She couldn’t help it. It was in her nature to question any authority that wasn’t her father and it didn’t help that the authority was coming at her from 3 different angles. So naturally, Sloan pushed her boundaries a little bit, to test the waters and see what would happen.

                She ended up with her nose in the corner, waiting for however-many-fucking-minutes Clint had put on his timer to get to zero so she could move.

                She tested the waters significantly less after that instance, but she never completely stopped. To be honest she didn’t know if she ever really would. Sloan was still struggling with the mannerisms of a proper sub, (being raised as Dom will do that to you) but she could already tell she quite enjoyed breaking the rules at least a little bit.

                For the most part, the men seemed understanding. Annoyed, but understanding nonetheless. Subs test their boundaries. Its allowed and far from unusual. And if it meant the men had the ability to raise a well-educated and rule-aware sub, then Sloan testing boundaries would eventually end up for the better. That _did not_ mean, however, that the little girl currently throwing a tantrum about bedtime, was going to get off easy.

It had all started when the men got home.

                The living room was _a mess._ Little Sloan had decided to dump her entire basket of toys (ranging from stuffed animals to puzzles with tiny pieces) over the expanse of the living room, as well as color on the walls and – by some unfortunate miracle – knock over and spill her ‘No Spills!’ sippy cup of milk onto the black rug in the middle of the room. She sat in the middle of it, giggling, playing with two stuffed pigs she had dug out from her room, rendering the dumping of the toy basket unnecessary (not that anyone could really say it was _necessary_ in the first place).

                That’s the sight Bucky and Steve came home to after a day of training new agents, paperwork, and a couple annoying meetings with Fury and Hill. Clint had yet to come back up to the apartment because he went to go grab dinner, so it was up to Bucky and Steve to clean up this mess.

                The days prior to this, when Sloan was in her headspace, had gone smoothly. Sloan was given rules, which she followed as best she could, and tasks to keep her occupied and feeling useful. However, the men never left her alone for more than 5 minutes at a time, and never was there no one in the apartment if one of them needed to leave. They had gotten a glimpse of what Sloan could do if she felt like she wasn’t getting enough attention, last night, but no one thought it would’ve escalated to this extent.

**Last Night**

                _Bucky and Steve were curled up on the couch, an aged down Sloan between them, watching a rerun of the Powerpuff girls. Clint was in the kitchen making dinner and the apartment – save for the TV – was pleasantly quiet._

_Somewhere between the 3 rd and 5th episode, Bucky had dozed off, his head lolling to the back of the couch. Sloan was too engrossed in her colorful cartoons to notice, so for now, things remained peaceful. It was when Steve pulled out a book from the coffee table to read, that things went wrong. _

_Steve got about half-way through his first page when a faint grunt reached his ears. He ignored it and continued reading. A couple minutes later a loud sigh was heard and ignored by Steve again. Then 5 minutes passed, and Steve’s book was thrown at Bucky who woke up with an unattractive (but hilarious) snort, by an annoyed little girl’s hands._

_Clint, who sensed a tantrum brewing from the first tiny grunt, walked in the room just in time to see a tired Bucky get smacked in the face and shoot up, wide-eyed, to defend himself. Maybe if he didn’t see the wrongness of Sloan’s behavior he would’ve laughed, and maybe he did laugh a little anyway, but he knew someone was gonna have to punish her._

_Steve surprised his partners when he frowned and pulled a pouting Sloan into his lap._

_“Little girl. What was that?” Steve’s voice took on it’s usual tenor, but somehow it demanded more attention than usual. It was obvious he was serious._

_“You n’ Dada not paying any attention! Rude!” She whined, pointing at a now aware Bucky._

_“So you decided to hit him? Is that in any way an appropri- a good way to treat Dada?” Steve asked, filtering himself so little Sloan could understand him._

_“Dada n You not treat me good! Ignor-ng me!” Sloan struggled out._

_“Answer the question little one,” Steve said._

_“No. It not good,”_

_“What do you have to say to him?”_

_She turned to Bucky, tears welling in her eyes._

_“I SORRY DADA! I DIDN’T MEAN IT” She threw herself at Bucky, crying, and buried her face in his neck._

_Bucky looked both alarmed and relieved and ultimately decided to hug the little girl back._

_“S’okay monkey, but you can’t do it again. I think Daddy is gonna haft’a punish you for this yeah? You broke a rule,” Bucky said, pressing a kiss to the side of her head._

_Sloan whimpered, but nodded, pulling away from Bucky and looking tearfully at Steve._

_Clint remained at the mouth of the living room, the kitchenette behind him, watching the scene unfold before him. Sloan gingerly placed herself on the floor, on her knees, bracing herself for what she assumed her punishment would be._

_“No, none of that now. I want you to go stand in the corner for 10 minutes and think about your actions. Okay?” Steve replied, helping Sloan stand._

_She looked surprised but complied nonetheless. Once she turned to face the corner, Steve started his timer. The men breathed a collective sigh of relief that they avoided what could’ve potentially been another explosive situation had they left Sloan to her resources on her knees._

**Present**

                The men had never even thought to start physically punishing Sloan. With her history of abuse, it was out of the question. However, seeing the mess on the carpet, and the mess of the living room in general, Bucky wondered if going more severe on punishments (while avoiding physical impact to any part of Sloan’s body) would be better. He filed it away in the back of his head, knowing full well tonight was not the night to practice new forms of punishment.

                “Sloan,” Bucky said.

                Sloan froze, dropped her pigs, and tilted her head up to stare wide-eyed at the men standing in front of the door. Whatever fear she felt in that moment was quickly replaced by elation as she hurdled towards the two men and wrapped them in a rather tight hug.

                “Daddy, Dada you home! You were gone so long and and and I got bored and and and I din’ know what toy to pway wif an’ so I dump em’ all out an’ – “ Sloan worked herself up with excitement (and maybe a little guilt) while clinging to the massive men before her.

                “Shh, I see you got bored, monkey. Breathe will ya’” Bucky chuckled hauling the little girl into his arms to rest on his hip.

                Steve looked at him like he was crazy. Bucky sent him a look that said ‘I got this’ and ‘don’t question me punk’ at the same time. Sloan, meanwhile, was comically taking mouthfuls of air (like a fish out of water) trying desperately to comply with her ‘Dada’s’ request. If she wasn’t in a world of trouble, Bucky might find it funny.

                “Alright monkey, you see this mess?” Bucky had officially gone full ‘daddy mode’ voice and all.

                Sloan nodded, pulling her thumb towards her mouth.

                “You gotta clean it up,”

                Sloan whined and shook her head hard, tears springing up at the corners of her eyes.

                “None of that little one, you made the mess.”

                Sloan grumbled something, her pout replacing her would-be tears, and squirmed to be let down. She stomped over to a couple stuffed animals and started picking them up, one by one. Bucky moved to the rug, picking it and the cup up, before moving through the apartment to deposit them in their rightful place. Once the rug was in the washing machine and the sippy cup in the sink, Bucky returned to the living room to see Sloan halfway done with cleaning. It took 5 or 10 minutes for it to be fully visible again (Bucky was gonna shoot Steve for buying Sloan so many 1000-piece puzzles) but once it was Sloan turned to look at Bucky, hope shining in her eyes.

                “Good job monkey, but you also colored on the walls, see that? What’re we gonna do about that huh sweets?” Bucky said, crouching so he was level with her gaze.

                She shook her head again, her thumb making a reappearance in her mouth.

                “No sweets for 2 weeks and early bedtime for 2 weeks as well,” Bucky decided, looking at Sloan apologetically. Although he wasn’t 100% sorry, the crayon would be difficult to get off the walls.

                Sloan did not like that _at all_. Bucky never thought he’d be the reason for Sloan to cry but now his mind was changed. Sloan screamed and sobbed, throwing her body on the floor and slamming her fists against the carpet. Steve and Bucky winced, because they had sensitive ears and because there’s no way the others in the tower hadn’t heard that.

                “You have until the count of 5 to stop and calm yourself down, or we’ll extend it,” Steve threatened lowly.

                He was surprised Sloan heard him over her screams.

                “1…”

                Sloan locked eyes with Steve in a tearful stare.

                “2…”

                Sloan narrowed her eyes, challenging her Daddy to say 3.

                Steve watched her coolly, stance and expression never changing.

                “3…”

                Sloan didn’t move from her spot on the floor, but her physical tantrum had ceased.

                “4…up off the floor little one,”

                Sloan slowly, like how a cat stretches, pulled herself off the floor until she was standing in front of Bucky and Steve, tears still flowing, and staring at her feet.

                “Good girl,” Steve praised, stepping closer to tilt her chin up.

                Her tears were slowing down, but the pout hadn’t gone unchanged from her face. Steve knew she wasn’t happy, especially because the most punishment Sloan had gotten was corner time. That’s when Clint walked in, brandishing Thai food, and sporting a concerned face at the sight before him. Bucky stepped back to help put out food and calmly explain the situation as Sloan welcomed her other Daddy.

                “Hi, Papa…” Sloan mumbled, Steve’s finger still under her chin.

                Clint’s face was set in a neutral expression, not uncaring but carefully guarded, and sent his little girl a nod and wave. She frowned more a couple lone tears spilt onto her cheeks, but she knew her Papa was just being her Papa, and he’d be all smiles later on.

                Steve removed his finger and took a step back to let Sloan decide what she wanted to do, but when she clung to his shirt with her fist, the answer became clear. Steve picked her up, setting her on his hip like Bucky had done earlier, and walked her over to the kitchen where the guys stood, putting out takeout boxes filled with warm food.

                Steve was in the middle of a conversation with the men when he felt a weight on his shoulder and heard a tiny grunt from the girl in his arms. His partners ‘awed’ and he’s sure Bucky snapped a picture. So he looked to his right and saw her resting her head on his shoulder, her thumb firmly in her mouth and her eyes drooping ever so slightly. Steve knew she needed to eat so he bounces her awake gently and faces her fully.

                “You’re gonna need a paci aren’t ya little one,” He noted, watching her blush slightly.

                “Yesh,” she mumbled around her thumb.

                2 hours later, Sloan’s stomach full of Thai food and her eyes growing heavy, Steve declared bedtime. 8 o clock was nowhere near the hour that she usually went to bed and she knew it. So when he stood to carry her to bed, she screamed bloody murder and jumped off the couch.

                Well, she tried to anyway.

                Bucky nabbed her around the waist before she could even get fully off the couch, and stood with her in his arms. She cried and fought him, trying desperately (and failing desperately) to pull Bucky’s arm from around her middle.

                “No no no not tired not tired,” She babbled tearfully.

                Bucky, Steve and Clint sighed collectively, because they had all seen Sloan’s eyelids grow heavy at the beginning of what would be the final cartoon of the night. She screamed again, pulling on Bucky’s arm and wriggled her body in odd ways to try and set herself free.

                “Dada no!” She cried.

                Steve had it with the tears and the screaming. Nothing was life threatening enough for her to go into a full-blown tantrum every time they asked her to do something. She needed _something_ to keep her relatively compliant or Steve might have to buy hearing aids like Clint. Clint, who had been watching the whole scene _without_ his aids in, was smirking as Bucky fought against 117 pounds of pissed off Sloan who _just wanted to watch her fucking cartoons!_

“Alright enough!” Steve practically shouted.

                Sloan stilled.

                “No more screaming and no more crying. You are going to bed early and that’s final. We will talk about the rest of your punishment in the morning because this behavior Sloan is absolutely _not_ allowed in this household. Have I made myself clear?” Steve demanded.

                Sloan didn’t answer. Her tears had stopped and she had fallen silent, however, so Steve took that as victory #1.

                “I said, have I made myself clear Sloan?” Steve asked, turning more to face her.

                She nodded.

                “Words,” Steve prompted.

                “Yes Daddy, you’ve made yourself clear.” She mumbled, her voice raw from screaming.

                Steve sighed and took that for victory #2.

                “Alright, let's go monkey, big bed or little bed tonight?” Bucky asked.

                Steve didn’t trust Sloan to go to bed if they left her alone in her room, so he answered for her.

                “She’s in our bed tonight,”

                “Big bed it is then, c’mon monkey, let’s getcha inta’ some jammies yeah?” Bucky said, carrying her into their back bedroom.

                Only Bucky heard her mumbled reply as the two men behind him flopped onto the couch, exhausted. Well, Steve flopped, Clint was still aid-less and sitting where he was at the beginning of dinner. Steve tipped himself over until Clint had a lapful of his Star Spangled Boyfriend who looked _exhausted._ Clint frowned sympathetically and ran a hand through Steve’s hair, bending nearly in half to press a kiss to his forehead.

                _Why does she scream so much?_ Steve signed clumsily.

                _She’s probably never been disciplined in her headspace._ Clint replied.

                _Oh. But what about the-_ Steve paused and fingerspelled ‘dinner incident’.

                _That was more for sexual pleasure and less for discipline._

                Steve nodded, understanding.

                From the moment Bucky closed the bedroom door the bedroom was silent. Only the faint thumbs of Bucky’s footsteps could be heard until they too disappeared. Steve suddenly shot up, avoiding knocking foreheads with Clint and dove for his computer sitting on the coffee table. Clint decided this was important, so he picked up his aids from the coffee table and slid them in.             

                “What’s her uh, age?” Steve asks, typing furiously.

                “21.”

                “Her aged-down age.”

                “I don’t know. 2-5 years? Somewhere in there,”

                “Do 2-year-olds have pacifiers?”

                “Sure”

                “Clint.”

                “Babe I don’t know, we can ask her when she’s out of it."

                “What?”

                “Nevermind, I’ll ask her tomorrow.”

                “But if she’s little…” Clint faded off.

“She’s lucid enough in her headspace to know her dislikes and likes, as evidenced by the screaming fit.”

                “That’s true.”

                “Alright, get back over here and kiss me you idiot, I was enjoying our time together” Clint continued, grumpily.

                Steve snorted, but set the computer down and followed suit until he was curled up with Clint again. Clint looked down at him and met him halfway with the softest kiss Steve had ever received.

 

 


	10. Meeting the Same People But Differently

The next day Clint woke up to a warm body on top of his, light snoring in his ear, and hair in his mouth.

                “Blegh,” he grunts, spitting out the dark locks.

                Sloan, the warm body on top of him, stirs and buries her face in his neck. He smiles to himself briefly, before it morphs into a startled gasp as she started to _suck_ on his neck. Clint was so surprised and confused that he didn’t even have time to admit to himself that he enjoyed it.

                He didn’t know if it was for comfort or sexual pleasure, but he had to know before he acted on his urges, or didn’t act if that’s what the situation allowed. Before Sloan, Clint had led a fairly sex-filled life with his partners. Upon her arrival, the sexual activities had halted, completely. Whether from the exhaustion of keeping up with her mood swings, or guilt for not being able to include her Clint didn’t know. But he did know he hadn’t gotten anything in nearly a month and Sloan suckling on the skin above his collarbone felt insanely good.

                It wasn’t bad for him to think of her in that way. Submissive/Dominant relationships are inherently sexual in nature. Sure they evolve into deeper relationships depending on the couple but the initial purpose is to preserve base sexual instincts to submit or dominate. Sloan was his submissive, whether she was big or little, and he expected _some_ level of submission from her. But the submission didn’t have to be sexual, it had never been sexual, especially since the incident about cartoons and dinner and blowjobs.

                Not once had Sloan expressed any sexual interest in any of the men. Sure there had been accidental innuendos that left her blushing like a firetruck, or maybe a dirty joke here and there when she was in her big headspace with the team, but never once had she _been_ sexual. Clint realized at that moment how much he missed having that aspect of submission in sex. When the three of the men were together, at least one of them had to fold and bottom for the night. But it was never _true_ submission. What made it worse was that he knew Sloan was a good sub when she wanted to be. He’d seen her follow rules to the absolute T and fight against her learned responses to act respectfully towards him or Bucky or Steve.

                Clint wanted to see that more. He wanted to see her begging him to cum and pleading him to be fucked out into a blissful subspace. He wanted to do everything he couldn’t do with the men he usually slept with but also equally loved. He wondered if Sloan would ever get to that point, and if she did, Clint wondered if he’d be able to help her. She’d been through so much, and Clint didn’t know if giving into his and her urges would be beneficial or harmful.

                Clint gently ran his hand down Sloan’s back, smiling to himself when a whimper arose from her throat. It wasn’t a whimper that meant she was suffering from a sexual itch she couldn’t scratch; it was more infantile like. So Clint assumed she was using his neck as a pseudo-pacifier. Which was fine, he hadn’t honestly expected Sloan to come unto him when she’d never expressed interest before.

                “Hey, wake up kiddo,” he murmured, slowly sitting up to avoid disturbing the two men on either side of them.

                The sucking on his neck lessens but doesn’t stop, and she pushes against Clint, hoping to get him to lay back down.

                “Nuh-uh kiddo, time to wake up,” He chided, slowly maneuvering out of bed.

                Sloan huffed against his neck, more or so awake, and stopped sucking all-together. Holding her so her feet were wrapped around his torso, with an arm supporting her butt, Clint carried Sloan into the kitchen to make something that vaguely resembled breakfast. He could go downstairs and grab something from the bigger kitchen, considering the kitchenette didn’t really have a lot of food space to offer anyway, but he didn’t want to risk scaring Sloan and exposing her secret to people she was just beginning to know.

                To be fair, the team already knew. Sloan just didn’t know they knew. When half of them had run up to the apartment months ago, it spread quickly among the rest who hadn’t been present. No one judged her, hell, they all engaged in kinky shit behind closed doors, but they were surprised to be privy to it so soon. Even though her little space was sexual in nature, it was still an extreme privilege to see someone in such a vulnerable, intimate, place.

                “Papa, too bright,” Sloan whined, screwing her eyes shut.

                Clint chuckled, because it was honestly too adorable not too, and slowly turned her away from the large window at the end of the hallway and ventured into the living room and kitchen area. Sloan had leaned her head on his shoulder by now and was observing quietly as he scrounged around in the kitchen for food. When there was none, she leaned her head against the side of his in concern at his deep and frustrated sigh.

                He could put her back in bed with Steve and Bucky, but he got the feeling she wasn’t going to let him go without a fight, so he began to prepare her for the journey downstairs.

                “Hey kiddo, I think we’re gonna have to go downstairs for some grub,” Clint murmured in her ear, looking around for her sippy cup.

                “M’kay,” she mumbled, making grabby hands for the plastic cup once Clint put milk in it.               

                Clint looked at her, bewildered.

                “You’re okay with it?”

                “Mhm. Big Sloan says they is nice, so is okay,” she responds.

                Clint was shocked, not just because that’s the longest sentence Sloan has ever said in her headspace, but because Sloan said his fellow teammates were _nice._

                “How old are we today munchkin?” Clint asks, gently bouncing her as he walks towards the elevator.

                “Dunno.” She shrugged.

                “How many fingers?” He asked, pressing the bottom floor button.

                She holds up 3 and her pinkie.

                “4?”

                She shakes her head no.

                “3…” he looks at her pinkie, “and a half?”

                She nods and grins around the mouth of her sippy cup.

                Clint briefly wondered if she was this clever when she actually was 3 and a half. Her file listed her as above average intelligence with an IQ well over 100, as well as several potential mental afflictions she could’ve developed under her father’s thumb, but Clint didn’t know when her intelligence really began to take root.

                The elevator reached the last floor and Sloan was halfway done with her milk, clearly thirsty. Clint gently took the cup away so she wouldn’t get a tummy ache and pressed a kiss to her forehead to soothe her. He bounced her gently as he walked through the large living space, not a person in sight, to the kitchen. He set Sloan on the island in the middle of the kitchen, hit the start button on the strangely already-filled coffee maker, and searched through the fridge for eggs.

                Sloan babbled softly behind him, singing the Little Einstein’s softly under her breath, kicking her feet up gently in front of her. Clint smiled to himself, enjoying the sound of her at peace, but then frowned when he remembered he had to deal with the situation last night. Clint worried that his fear of not wanting to punish Sloan too harshly had transformed into a complete lack of discipline. It was possible. It had happened before with Clint’s subs. The solution was to resort to physical punishments but the thought of hitting Sloan in a negative way brought bile to the back of his mouth.

                He shook his head softly and told himself he’d talk to his partners about it later while pulling a carton of eggs out of the fridge.

                “EGG!” Sloan screeched happily, making Clint jump.

                “Oopsies, sorry, Egg!” Sloan said again, significantly quieter.

                Clint chuckled and pressed a kiss to Sloan’s temple as he passed her, setting up the kitchen to make eggs and bacon. He got busy cracking eggs and frying bacon, looking behind him occasionally to check on his girl. Every time she shot him a 1000-watt, teeth and all, and then continued humming to herself softly. Everything went smoothly until Clint could sense someone else on the floor. He heard them before he saw them, but by the faint grumbling and cussing, he assumed it was Tony.

                Sloan and Tony got along well enough when she wasn’t in her headspace. She had a little built up resentment because of how he treated her when they first met, but their interactions since had been pleasant if not casually civil. Tony was a submissive through and through, just like Sloan, so Clint crossed his fingers and hope Tony would understand that Sloan was in a significantly younger headspace than usual.

                Tony stumbled into the kitchen, mumbling a hello to Clint and Sloan as he made a beeline for the coffee maker. He pulled three cups out of the cabinet, laying them next to each other, and slowly began filling them. He took his coffee with 3 packets of sugar and 4 teaspoons of creamer while Clint took his black. Sloan drank coffee in whatever form it was given to her when she was big, but definitely should not be given coffee when she’s little.

                Tony tiredly set a mug next to Sloan and a mug next to Clint before leaning against the counter near Sloan. She hadn’t set a word to Tony yet, unusual for her, and just watched his movements. Tony got halfway through his cup before he noticed this and sent Clint a weird look.   

                “She okay?” Tony asked, wincing when he realized he had addressed her Dom instead of her.

                It was a normal occurrence in the world of Subs and Doms, but it was usually frowned upon among friends considering it can be belittling in certain situations. Clint, however, hadn’t noticed and answered.

                “She’s in her headspace right now, ain’t that right kiddo?” Clint tossed a look over his shoulder, smiling at his little girl who was too busy staring at Tony’s coffee to smile back.

                “Oh,” Tony stated, picking up her coffee mug and moving it away.

                Clint raised his eyebrows in surprise. He’d never seen Tony interact with children and even if Sloan wasn’t technically a child, this behavior was new to Clint. Sloan reached for Tony’s cup as he passed in front of her again, whining as she did so. Clint put the bacon on the plate to cool and overturned his bowl of eggs in the pan, hoping that Tony wouldn’t do something dumb and scare Sloan. Clint trusts Tony with his life, but sometimes Tony can be impulsive.

                “Ta!” Sloan said, tugging on Tony’s sleeve.

                Tony looks down at Sloan, eyebrows raised in question.

                “Hol!” She chirped while making grabby hands.

                Clint stopped cooking to turn and watch the scene unfolding behind him. Sloan was looking at Tony expectantly, arms outstretched, grabbing at him.

                “She wants you to hold her,” Clint said.

                “Oh, um…alright,” Tony looked lost.

                Sloan whined impatiently before Tony broke out of his confused haze and lifted Sloan into his arms, her butt resting on his hip and her head resting on his shoulder. Clint was frozen. When Sloan was aged down around him and his partners in their apartment she was like this, but in public, Sloan was stiff as a board and absolutely refused to age down, even if Bucky or Steve or Clint told her it was perfectly okay. But here she was, cuddled up to Tony fucking Stark in one of the busiest rooms at the compound, completely calm. Tony was swaying lightly, probably not even aware of it, and hummed softly to Sloan who was playing with a hole on his shirt.

                Clint turned back to the eggs to make sure they didn’t burn and moved them to a plate nearby. At the smell of food, Sloan perked up but didn’t ask Tony to put her down. Sloan was a clingy little thing. Most nights in the apartment, especially around dinner time, she was in the lap of one of the guys if not stretched across all of them. Even at dinner she would sit in the lap of Steve or Bucky and eat her food or if she really little, have one of them feed it to her. Once they all went to bed she’d pick one of the boys and latch onto him, usually not letting go until morning. Clingy as she was, however, she _never_ lets someone else hold her.

                Weeks ago, Sloan was downstairs with the team, working with Tony on a design and Peter stumbled in, fresh off the streets. Sloan had never met him and to be honest, didn’t want to with the way he smelled, teenage boys are so _sweaty_ , so she sidestepped his first attempt at a hello and went back to working with Tony. In Sloan’s defense, usually, you shouldn’t greet someone you’ve _just_ met with a hug. Bucky was downstairs in the lab, waiting for Tony to finish whatever so he could get a check-up done on his arm and watched as Peter tried _again_ to hug Sloan. This time though it was a bear hug that locked Sloan’s arms at her sides and pressed his sweaty chest right into her back.

                Needless to say, she was disgusted.

                So Sloan did what any normal person would do in that situation, and punched him in the nose. Bucky was so amazed at her speed and technique that he didn’t even remember to punish her. Although she came down an hour or two later and apologized.

                After that, the team asked before they touched her, and though they didn’t have any reason to touch her frequently, every time she would smile to herself and say yes. Apparently, though, boundaries were not little Sloan’s forte and she clung to Tony even harder when he went to set her down so they could eat.

                “NO!” She screeched, clutching onto him.

                “Jeez alright bug I won’t let you go,” Tony mumbled to himself.

                “Bug,” She repeated.

                Tony looked at her, not realizing he had let a nickname for her slip.

                “I bug?” She pointed to herself.

                Tony nodded slowly.

                “Bug and Ta,” Sloan said, more to herself than anyone else, and then smiled hugely.

                Clint thought his heart was going to explode right then and there.

                “Alright Bug and Ta, breakfast time,”

 

 

 


	11. Something Needs to Change

Hours after breakfast, Sloan was back in the apartment watching cartoons with her bunny stuffed animal named Rosco. The boys were sitting in the kitchen discussing something too quiet for her ears to hear and making vague hand gestures at each other every once in awhile.

                Sloan recognized it as sign language out of her periphery, or finger-language as little Sloan called it, and wondered if she could still understand what they were saying. Even when in little space Sloan was too clever for her own good. So she watched the mean sneakily, picking out words like ‘rules’ and ‘discipline’ but also words like ‘comfortable’ and ‘comfort items’, and returned to her cartoons when she thought she had gathered enough information.

                She drifted in and out of her headspace for a while, sitting on the edge of adult and child, wondering if she wanted to age up for a little bit. She knew her headspace age of 4 years old was trained to comprehend serious conversations because she had trained herself too, but she didn’t want to have the inevitable conversation the men were going to have with her when she was 4. It was mentally draining as much as it was taking away her cartoon time. She had been on the edge of her headspace since after breakfast, her interaction with Tony satisfying her craving for attention, and was slowly drifting closer and closer to adulthood.

                Usually, when Sloan was like this (way back when she wasn’t being held hostage) she would use a comfort item like a binkie or a blanket to soothe her nerves and then she’d stay aged down and everything would be fine. It was a last resort method for her because her the man who was her ‘Daddy’, Kyle Dupeux (pronounced Due-po) hated anything remotely baby-ish about her in little space. So when she tried to age down she had to do it in secret. Kyle really only wanted her as a sexual little. He wasn’t too entirely interested in her otherwise. So any discipline or rules had gone out the window and Sloan was made into a little who didn’t have to follow rules unless Kyle wanted his dick sucked.

                For a minute Sloan is glad she was raised as a Dom, but then the reminder of how other Dom’s treated her almost sent her completely into her headspace out of the fear of the memory itself. The life Sloan was raised in cared not for her Submissive traits, but that’s already been established. However, Dom’s pursued Sloan anyway. A lot of male Dom’s within the mob would take it upon themselves to ‘break’ Sloan until she was essentially a weak Dom that followed orders. However, none of them knew she was a submissive, so for years of her life, starting from her sexual maturation and ending once she ran away, Sloan had been exposed to shitty Doms that only wanted to take down their biggest competition.

                Her dad knew this too. Barney Bellomo watched man after man come into Sloan’s room and walk out with a frown and his shirt in his hand. Sloan would walk out minutes later, bruised and battered but grinning like a madwoman, and catcall whoever was walking away out of spite. She had never bowed to a Dom and she wasn’t going to start with men who just wanted her to break her. Her Dad also knew she would never bow, but he believed that sending more Dom’s her way would only make her stronger. So he would send two or three in a day.

                At least until Sloan caught on.

                The day after Sloan found out her father had been sending men her way so they could break her, she killed the next man she slept with. It was an accident, of course, he had slipped on the knife she had pressed to his chest and impaled himself. Sloan couldn’t help it, she had been too slow to stop the blood flowing from the wound on his chest.

                Barney’s henchmen spent the whole day pulling blood out of the carpet.

                Barney never sent another man to Sloan again.

                The recollection nearly brought Sloan to tears and did take her fully out of her headspace. She found herself very adult, very emotional, and very cold considering she had forgotten to grab a blanket before toddling to the couch in her little space. The men at the table hadn’t realized this of course and remained where they were without any intention of moving. Rapidly coming out of a headspace can ironically trigger another submissive headspace that is considerably worse, called Sub Drop. Sloan was floundering. She was too afraid to move, for fear she would collapse where she stood. So she sat, shaking, panicking and rapidly falling into a dark hole of self-hatred and terror.

                At the table, Steve had noticed the shift in the atmosphere of the room. Usually, Sloan sung along to whatever cartoon theme song was playing at the beginning of each episode, but the SpongeBob theme song was playing and Sloan’s quiet harmony was nowhere to be found. Steve, thinking Sloan fell asleep, turned to get a look at his girl, only to find her sitting stock still on the couch. Her knees were drawn up to her chest, bunny discarded on the floor, and her eyes were stuck on the right-hand corner of the TV. Her breathing had shallowed and quickened and Steve detected a slight tremor through her body. He knew what Sub Drop looked like all too well and shot up from the table to help her calm down.

                Steve was in front of her in a matter of seconds, warm hands resting on top of hers. Her eyes had gone glassy and dull; it was obvious she was replying horrible memories in her head.

                “Sloan, hey, look at me pretty girl,” Steve asked, gently turning her face more towards him.

                Her face moves easily, eyes meeting his but not changing from their dead appearance.

                “Good girl, breathe for me sweetheart,” Steve says, softly pushing the pad of his thumb across her cheekbone, attempting to give her something to ground her.

                Slowly she takes shuddering breaths, her tremors increasing with the effort. A little light peeks through her eyes again and Steve almost sighs with relief.

                “Alright, I’m gonna pick you up okay?” Steve said waiting for her approval.

                She nodded once and slowly began to lift up the hem of her shirt. Steve moved to stop her but she shook her head softly and lifted the shirt all the way off. Steve averted his eyes carefully, respecting her privacy because they were nowhere near a sexual relationship. She tapped his hand, apparently going nonverbal, and motioned for him to take his shirt off as well. Steve, unsure but trusting, took his shirt off and handed it to her, assuming she wanted it. She shook her head and slowly got off the couch to settle in his lap. She pressed her clothed chest against his bare one before slowly reaching up behind her to undo her bra. Eventually, she was chest to chest with him, face nestled in his neck, breathing slowly.

                Finally, Steve understood. Some subs need the skin on skin contact to come up from Sub Drop. Steve ran his palms, pressed flush against the skin on her back, up and down to soothe her. He knew if he was looking at her right now she’d still be glassy-eyed and remembering horrible things so he just held her close until he figured out what to do next. Clint and Bucky were sitting at the kitchen table, amazed and unmoving. Steve had closed his eyes and was focusing on Sloan’s breathing, humming loud enough to break through her haze of abusive memories.

                Bucky stood slowly and filled a glass with cool water, walking it towards Steve and setting it down next to them before moving to sit on the edge of the couch. Watching Sloan’s back shake with quiet sobs. Steve soothed her by pressing kisses to her temple.

                “Clint…I don’t know what to do here.” Steve admitted, burying his face in Sloan’s hair.

                It was always funny to Clint how the men would turn to him when they had no idea what was going on. It wasn’t like Clint had a better idea of what was going on than they did, but he was the little of their make-shift Dom pack, so sometimes he was expected to have all the answers. This time, however, he did have all the answers.

                “Alright, how’s her breathing.”

                “Slow, steady,”

                “Heartbeat?”

                “Fast.”

                “Okay so go back to soothing her like you were, long, slow strokes to keep her grounded.”

                Sloan was vaguely aware of the instructions being admitted to her. She was sitting on the edge of a pit of darkness, wanting nothing more than to tip herself over and fall right in. She was so _tired_ of trying. Of breathing. Of working hard. What was she striving for anymore? What were her goals? Even if she hated her father, at least he gave her purpose. Get in. Kill. Get out. Task after task, job after job. Here, living in the apartment, only leaving to socialize and not being able to actually _do_ anything because everyone is too busy trying to protect her, leaves Sloan feeling helpless. Why is she eating and trying to better herself if they’re never going to let her fight alongside the Avengers? Why is she sitting in the lap of a man who probably won’t remember once her time in the program is done.

                Why. _Why._ Is she fighting?

                Suddenly. Sloan was pulled away from her safe haven in Steve’s neck and a t-shirt that smells like him is slipped over her head. She weakly allows the men to slide her arms through the holes before slumping back against Steve. She’s being jostled around as Steve stands but she doesn’t care. She doesn’t care when he wraps her legs loosely around his waist. She doesn’t care when he walks her towards the bed that smells like all three men. She barely even feels the soft covers beneath her back. She does feel, however, when Steve slowly unlatches his body from hers and disappears from the bedroom.

                Tears begin to run down her cheeks faster than before. A whimper cracks through her chest and she curls in on herself, tugging her hair to punish herself with pain.

                _Bad sub. A bad sub that can’t even please her master. Pathetic sub._ Her internal dialogue is screaming at her.

                _You deserve the pain, tug harder._ Sloan pulls harder until a sob of pain escapes her lips, louder than she wanted.

                Steve was in the room instantly, assessing the scene and jumping into action.

                “No baby, no pulling, c’mon don’t do that to yourself gorgeous.” Steve said, pulling her hands from her hair gently and wrapping his own around them.

                Sloan whimpered, and tugged on his grip, trying to weaken it. Steve sighed and somehow got her into his arms and into the bathroom. Sloan stared at the tub filled with bubbles and warm water and although she wanted nothing more than to dive beneath the suds, she couldn’t help but feel as though she didn’t deserve it. Steve sits her on the counter, undressing her slowly with soft touches and questions.

                “Can I take this off?”

                Sloan would nod.

                “And these?”

                Sloan nodded again.

                The questions and soft touches continued until she was naked to Steve, and being set in the tub. She wanted to relax. She wanted to lean back and enjoy the warmth on her skin. But _she didn’t deserve it_. So she sat, stock still, knees were drawn up to her chest, refusing the warmth on her skin.

                “C’mon princess, lean back”

                The words echoed in her head like a sad song. She desperately wanted to tell him she couldn’t. She wanted to tell him she didn’t deserve it. She wanted to tell him she needed help. She wanted to tell him she needed all three of her daddies when she was like this. She wanted to tell him to get them.

                But she _couldn’t._

                And she hated herself for it.

                When the tremors started up again, although arguably they never stopped, Steve called for reinforcements.

                “Clint, Bucky, please help,” Steve called.

                They practically ran into the bathroom, Bucky kneeling directly beside Sloan without actually getting in with her. Sloan, despite her brain’s protests, leaned into him and pressed her tear-covered face into the sleeve of his Henley.

                Clint walked in holding a sippy cup full of water and a pacifier?

                “Clint?”

                “Tony went out and uh…spoiled her.”

                “He knows about her head-“

                “Yeah, long story.”

                “Alright pass it here.”

                Steve took the pacifier from Clint and handed it to Bucky who gently wiggled it into Sloan’s mouth. Sloan sucked on it once and all the tension left her shoulders. She immediately sunk back into the water, Bucky stuck his hand behind her head to keep her from hitting it too hard and watched as her eyes closed slowly. She was sucking on it methodically, everything from her breathing to her heartbeat slowing as result.

                Bucky looked at Steve and Clint. Pulling them out in the hallway with a promise to Sloan ‘they’d be right back’. Once they were standing outside the room, Bucky turned to them.

                “We’re desperately out of touch.”

                “Buck…”

                “No! No, we can’t keep pretending to know what she wants. She isolated for an entire month and suddenly starts showing up again and we have no idea what to do. Relationships don’t work this way, we can’t keep pretending that we’ve had her as a sub for months when realistically she’s acted like a sub for a couple of days. We’re not being good Dom’s and we’re expecting her to be a perfect Sub.” Bucky ranted, rucking his metal hand through his hair.

                Clint and Steve heaved a sigh.

                “You’re right”


	12. Changing Learned Behavior

It took three days for Sloan to come back to her adult headspace. Clint, Steve, and Bucky requested time off of Avenger’s business unless it was an absolute emergency so they could work on their relationship. In that time, all punishment had been halted until the men were sure they knew what they could and could not punish Sloan with.

Sloan was itching to get out of the fucking apartment and woke up with a strong urge to smoke. So, she untangled herself from the men and walked to the balcony, retrieving a cigarette and lighting it up. She inhaled deeply and rested against the cool steel bars of the railing. She was wearing a pair of underwear and Steve’s shirt, enjoying the weather and breeze on her legs.

She wondered when she woke up if she should’ve dressed in something more appropriate. However, none of them were sexually interested in her despite the fact that she would happily fuck any of them if they asked. She figured it wouldn’t matter if she walked out naked, they were all gay for each other, it was clear. Her being around didn’t change that.

                She finished her first cigarette and started her second one, feeling the need to fill her veins with nicotine that she felt it all day. It’s not like she’d get to go out in public anyway. They don’t want to be seen in public with her.

                “How many are left?” Clint’s voice startled her and Sloan jumps nearly a foot in the air.

                “Holy fuck, warn a girl,” Sloan retorted.

                “Language. How many are left?” Clint repeated.

                Sloan caught on.

                “5,” She said around the filter in her mouth.

                “Toss em’,”

                “What,” Sloan said taking the lit cigarette out of her mouth.

                Clint grabbed it with cat-like reflexes it, extinguished it, ripped it in half and tossed it over the balcony railing.

                “Dude! What the fuck is your damage?”

                “It’s sir to you, toss the pack and come inside.”

                “No,”

                “Excuse me?” Clint said, his Dom voice presenting itself.

                Sloan’s knees wobbled slightly. The urge to kneel was  _strong_  but Sloan’s resolve was stronger.

                “I said no,”

                Sloan clutched the pack tightly in her hand, gaze leveled with Clint in challenging.

                “You’re already on a punishment but if you wanna add to it, its no skin off my back,” Clint shrugged.

                Sloan narrowed her eyes, tossing the pack in a perfect arch into the trash can.

                “Good girl,” Clint said simply.     

                Sloan wanted to preen at the praise, but she was too busy internally crying about her cigarettes to do so. Sloan stepped inside the apartment, ready to go grab a cup of coffee from the kitchen, but Clint stopped her and pulled her back to him. In one swift motion, he lifted up the hem of the shirt and snagged the cigarette she had hidden between the thin strap of her thong and her skin.

                Clint took a long look at the thin black thong, dividing a supple ass. He wanted to spank it.

                Sloan didn’t know whether to feel scandalized or aroused. He holds the cigarette level to her gaze and snaps it in half too. Sloan chose to feel scandalized, ignoring the heat pooling in her gut.

                “Nice try,” he smirked, throwing the broken cigarette over the railing.

                Sloan gulped.

                “I would punish you but we haven’t talked about your limits or rules,” Clint said.

                “I don’t have any limits,” Sloan shrugged.

                Clint choked on air.

                “Ky- I mean, the guy who was my Dom, we never went over rules or my limits. He just did whatever and I put up with it. If it got to be too much we just wouldn’t do it again,” Sloan explained.

                That didn’t make Clint feel any better.

                “Did you have a safe word?”

                “A what…” Sloan asked timidly.

                Clint was pretty sure he was going to pass out. Sloan  _knew nothing_ about the Sub/Dom dynamic. She had been put into this program with no knowledge of the relationship was supposed to operate in a healthy way. Clint had let her go for months as a little and as a Sub when she had no idea what she was doing. She probably didn’t even understand why she was being punished half the time.

                Clint felt sick to his stomach.

                “Alright uh…okay. Let’s get breakfast started and then we can talk while we eat, sound good?” Clint asked.

                Sloan raised her eyebrows in surprise. Mostly because it was nearly 7 am (way too early to eat breakfast in Sloan’s opinion) but also because Clint went from domineering to caring in about 3 seconds. Sloan felt a bubble of insecurity in her chest. It wasn’t like she had a lot of practice as a Sub, her father had made sure of that. Sloan felt sick with fear.

                 _What if they reported me to SHIELD? What if they decided they wanted a better trained and well-behaved Sub? Could they send me back for that?_

Thoughts swirled in her head and she felt dizzy with anxiety.

                “I need…a...c-can I sit?” Sloan asked, her legs shaking.

                Clint looked at her, alarmed, breaking himself out of a stupor. She looked  _terrified._  Her breathing was slowly increasing and her body started to shake with tremors. Clint nodded slowly, waiting for her to take a seat. As soon as she relaxed her legs, however, they fell out from under her, her body nearly hitting the floor. Clint dived and caught her, bringing her softly to the ground with him. Her face was inches from his from Clint having to hold her close to lessen the impact of the fall.

                She looked up at him, her green eyes wide with fear and a tinge of worry. He sat cross-legged on the floor, her upper body laying horizontally across his legs. He was leaning over to see her better.

                “I’m sorry,” She said.

                “Don’t be,” he replied.

Time seemed to stop. He was lost in those green eyes that were slowly losing their dulling fear. Her eyes brightened ever so slowly, the pupils dilating as the closeness of their position became evident to her. He realized how  _young_  she looked. Her file listed her age as 22, making him  _25_  years her senior. Yet he felt all his apprehension fall away as he got lost in those emerald pools.

                There had been no sexual tension before this moment. Strangely everyone had kept their hands to themselves, but having her half-way in his lap with her underwear slightly on display made Clint want to break the unspoken rule. She looked like she was struggling just as Clint was. Her lip was pulled between her white teeth, chest rising and falling in anticipation. Clint didn’t know this of course, but just being so close to him with her cloth-covered crotch basically on display increased the warmth in the pit of her stomach.

                She took into account his freckles and scruff. His faint scars and one or two small moles. He had aged well for everything he’d been through. To Sloan, he didn’t look older than 30, but she knew the truth. She had to admit to herself that him being 25 years her senior only made her want him more.

                “You’re pretty,” she blurted, her thoughts spilling from her lips before she could stop herself.

                Her pink tongue darted out to lick her lips. Clint followed the movements with a heated gaze.

                “Pretty? How insulting, I’ll have you know I’m more than just a piece of ass,” Clint remarked in a rather horrid English accent.

                Sloan nearly rolled off his lap with how hard she was laughing.

                “Terribly sorry sir, might I say you are as handsome as they come,” Sloan said in an equally terrible English accent.

                Clint laughed so hard he had to lay down. Sloan saw her chance and slowly crawled up his body until she was laying on top of him. Clint’s hands came up to rest on her hips, his fingers rubbing circles into the soft fabric. The position was incredibly intimate, but not unusual for him or Sloan. Most nights Sloan would fall asleep half-way on one of the men, using their pecs (or ‘titties’ as she jokingly called them) as pillows.

                The energy in the room was different this time. She wasn’t using him as a pillow, and although his body was more comfortable than the bed in the other room, she had no intentions of falling asleep on him. She did, however, rest her head on his sternum right under his chin and nuzzled gently into his neck. Clint moved one hand under the back of her shirt and rubbed the warm skin underneath.

                “This okay?” His voice was deep with arousal.

                “Anytime you touch me it’s okay,” Sloan murmured quietly.

                “What was that?”

                “I mean, yes, yes it’s okay,” she said louder, her cheeks pinking with embarrassment.

                Clint chuckled, the sound vibrating in his chest and amplifying in her ear.

                It was about 7:00 in the morning. Too early for either of them to feel any pressing urge to get up and go make breakfast, or at least stand and get into the bed with the other two men who were surprisingly still asleep. The constant feeling of Clint’s warm hand on her back and the soothing feeling of just being near him was lulling Sloan to sleep. To an outside observer, this would look weird. Two fully grown adults laying on the carpet of the apartment when there’s a perfectly functional couch near them. To the fully grown adults, however, this was the most comfortable they’d been in a while.

                Sloan moved up slightly until her face was right above Clint’s, an idea popping into her head. Clint, sensing there was a face above his, opened his eyes slowly, eyebrows raising expectantly.

                “Yes?”

                “Hi,”

                Clint chuckled.

                “Hi again,”

                “You’re warm,”

                “So I’ve been told,” Clint said, his voice deep and slow.

                Both his hands moved under her shirt, running slowly up her sides and then back down to the thin waistband of her thong. He could see the rounded tops of her supple ass, divided by the g-string of her underwear, and heat pooled in Clint’s stomach. He repeated the rubbing motion, watching her eyes dilate with emotion. A thought pops into Sloan’s head, momentarily pausing her arousal and replacing it with worry.

                “Are you gay,” Sloan blurted.

                “A little,” Clint admitted, shrugging his shoulders awkwardly.

                “How are you a little gay? You and Steve and Bucky all…you know…” She trailed off, unsure.

                “Yeah but we also all like women,” Clint gently ran a finger along the waistband of her underwear.

                Sloan bit her lip, arousal pooling in her underwear. She hated how his touch could melt her like this, but she loved being Clint's to touch at the same time.

                “So you’re bi? All of you?” Sloan clarified.

                “Usually we don’t put a label on it, but if we had to, then yeah I’d say we’re all bi,” Clint said.

                “Bi men are a rarity. Three of you!? In the same house!? How selfish,” Sloan teased, moving her face closer.

                “A beautiful girl like you, taken by 3 separate men and you’re calling us selfish? I find that hard to believe,” Clint muttered, inching his face closer to hers.

                “Clint Barton, are you calling me selfish?” Sloan asked, pretending to offended, all the while moving her mouth closer to his.

                “If the shoe fits kiddo,” He smiled devilishly.

                Then he closed the already small gap between them.

                And he kissed her.

                It was soft and slow, his lips against hers Her lips were  _so damn soft_ it was like kissing a cloud. She tilted her head slightly, her lips moving against him expertly. He dominated the kiss, his tongue swiping into her mouth to taste her. She tasted like old smoke and coffee. Even if Clint wasn’t a fan of her smoking, he was addicted to her taste.

                He sits up slowly, still connected to Sloan’s mouth, and held her close smiling when her legs went around his waist. One hand trailed up her back, still under her shirt, and gently held the back of her neck. Sloan whimpered, her mouth slotting against his with urgency, and opened her mouth more. Clint deepened his kiss, his tongue tangling with hers. Sloan tasted coffee and mint on his tongue, moaning at the taste. Anything she had thought earlier about him being gay flew out the window. Clint Barton was a damn good kisser.

                Clint gently pulled their mouths apart when he needed to breathe, chuckling at the pained whimper that escaped her. A thin line of saliva formed between their mouths before breaking. Clint rubbed his hand along her back and wrapped it around the back of her neck squeezing lightly. Her lips were slightly pink and swollen from the prolonged kiss. He felt his dick twitch in his sweatpants and groaned internally. His hand on her back dropped to toy with the string dividing her ass cheeks. He played with it lightly before trailing the pads of his fingers along the expanse of her ass.

                “This okay?” He husked, pressing a soft kiss to her neck.

He felt 17 again, sitting in the rafters of the circus tent, making out with one of the younger performers. Sloan was panting lightly, bringing her face close to his again. She craved the feeling of his lips against hers, and now that she’s had it, she doesn’t want to forget it.

                “Yes,” she whispered, tugging lightly on the ends of his hair at the base of his neck.  

                He lets her pull him close again and he lets out a sigh of pleasure when their lips meet again. It's slow and lazy, their tongues dancing together in languid harmony. He nibbled on her bottom lip and she moaned softly into his mouth, stirring his arousal further. He wanted to hear her moan like that again. She pulled away gently making Clint grunt unhappily. He needed those velvet soft lips against his.

                “You said we need to talk about rules?” She said, her voice rougher.

                “We should wait until the other two wake up,” He panted.

                “Then let's go wake em’ up,” She got an evil look in her eye.

                Clint usually tried not to encourage bad behavior from Subs, but it was nearly 8 and the boys were usually up by then anyway. Clint had to admit he wanted to see what she did. Also anytime he got a chance to mess with his boys he was going to jump at it. However, there were much more important matters to be attending to.

                “Mmm, in a minute,” he muttered, his voice deep and dominating.

                He connected their mouths again and scooted Sloan further up in his lap so she was sitting right above the slowly growing bulge in his sweatpants. She leaned in, deepening the kiss and submitting to his touch. One hand had remained firmly on the back of her neck, maintaining his dominance in this position. His other firmly gripping the flesh of her ass.

                They sat like that for a couple more minutes, lazily sliding their mouths and tongues against each other while their hands did the rest of the exploring. Sloan slid her hands under his soft green sleep shirt and danced her fingertips along his abs before scratching her nails down them lightly. He hissed lightly, his hips jerking into her.

                She grinds down against him while biting his bottom lip lightly. Clint holds back a moan and slowly pulls away to catch his breath. He knew they shouldn’t go much farther than this for a couple reasons. One of them being that Steve and Bucky would want to join in. Another one being that there was still a lot Clint didn’t know about Sloan, and having sex on the floor is hardly a way to fix that.

                Sloan gently kissed down his neck, understanding why he pulled away and stopped grinding on him. Clint held back a moan and let her kiss down the other side of his neck as well. He pulled her back to his face when she was done and kissed her hard. While they were kissing he stood.

                 _Is he standing without using his hands? Holy fuck he must have thighs of steel. I wonder how they’d feel under me while I rode them to orgasm._ Sloan thought evilly as Clint pulled away and kissed down her neck like she had done to him a couple seconds ago. Sloan let out what can only be described as a mix of a giggle and a moan and pushed at Clint’s shoulders.             

                “Alright, alright. Let’s go wake em’ up,” He said, setting her down. His blue eyes were blown nearly black with desire; Sloan was sure her eyes looked the same.

                Even though making out with Clint was slowly becoming Sloan’s favorite pass time, she felt the dregs of exhaustion settle in her bones. All she wanted at that moment was  _sleep._ So that’s exactly what she was going to get.

                Sloan grinned and turned on her heel, basically running to the bedroom. Inside Steve and Bucky were fast asleep, wrapped up with each other, under the blankets. If Sloan was being honest it was the most peaceful she’d ever seen them. Her big scary Doms were actually cuddly teddy bears. Clint came in behind her, his hands clenching at his sides, using all his willpower not to throw Sloan on the bed and have her way with her, Steve and Bucky be damned.

                Sloan lifted up the end of the covers at the end of the bed and slowly crawled beneath them, towards the boys. They had fallen asleep in boxers and nothing else due to the extreme amount of body heat they produce, so needless to say Sloan was face to face with two half hard bulges. Although she would’ve loved to wrap her lips around them and wake the boys up that way, she was on a mission. So she bypassed the morning wood and continued her journey to the surface of the blanket cave.

                At the top of the bed, Bucky and Steve were still fast asleep, mouths wide open and snoring softly. Sloan giggled to herself, knowing full well that Clint was watching her closely. Sloan was finally where she wanted to be and curled up between the two men. Bucky grunted in his sleep, moving closer to Sloan and burying his face in her neck. She caught Clint’s eye and smiled toothily.

                “Oh you little shit,” he chuckled, “you’re gonna leave me all alone to make breakfast by myself?”

                Sloan nodded, scooting up to nose along the edge of Steve’s collarbone, pressing a soft kiss to the warmed skin. Despite himself, Clint smiled. She looked adorably small curled between the mountain of men that are Bucky and Steve. He didn’t mind making breakfast by himself if it meant Sloan could fall back asleep with a huge smile on her face.

                Yeah, he was a sap.

                As Clint was leaving Steve snuggled closer to the new warm body in his bed, mimicking Bucky by burying his nose in her neck. Sloan giggled and pressed a light kiss to his neck, attempting to rouse him from sleep. Steve grunted. His hands coming to rest on her back. Bucky stirred behind them, his legs tangling with hers.

                Exhaustion was soaking into her bones, plastering her on the bed. Bucky and Steve’s warmth anchored her, keeping her body pressed into the silk sheets. Bucky mumbled something to himself, pulling Sloan closer. Steve grunted and pulled Sloan back. Suddenly she was in the middle of a sleepy tug of war by two men who obviously didn’t know how to share.

                Bucky pulled her back hard against his chest, his leg thrown over her hip and wrapping over her legs while his metal arm pressed against her stomach and his flesh arm pressed against her collarbone. Her ass was pressed directly against his morning wood, and her boobs were brushing against his metal arm. Sloan felt dangerously aroused, Bucky’s hold acting similar to being tied up with rope and Sloan  _loved_ being restrained. A loan whimper escaped her lips, louder than she intended.

                Steve’s eyes snapped open, meeting hers instantly. She squirmed experimentally, choking on air when Bucky tightened his grip. Steve watched, amused.

                “Help me,” Sloan groaned.

                “What’s the magic word,” Steve asked.

                Sloan narrowed her eyes. She drew her right arm up with some struggle and brought it back down so that her elbow jabbed Bucky right in his ribs. He woke up with an ‘oof’ releasing Sloan of her arm prison. His blue eyes were revealed to the rest of the bed dwellers and Steve stopped breathing for a second.  _Those_ eyes were easily the prettiest color in the universe. Steve wanted to take that color and plaster the walls with it so he can constantly appreciate his favorite shade of blue. Sloan mumbled a sorry and met his sleepy blue eyes, grinning at Bucky’s grumpy face.

                “G’mornin boys!” Sloan cheered, aware both  ~~her~~  the boys were now wide awake.

                “Shh, g’mornin’ monkey,” Bucky huffed, grabbing for Sloan again.

                “Nope! It’s time to get up! Clint makin’ breakfast,” she said, climbing over Steve to get out of bed.

                Steve trapped her legs and she comes tumbling down to the spot she just tried to leave. Steve hovered over her, amusement danced in his eyes. Bucky took up her other side, hovering over her like Steve. She had two  _very_ attractive men above her and it was taking everything she had not to just throw her legs open and beg for them to take care of her.

                “Do we  _have_ to get up doll? You gonna make us?”  Bucky enquired, leaning closer.

                Sloan gulped. God, she wanted to submit to that voice every night of the week.

                “No sir,” she answered, her voice small.

                “No to which one princess?” Steve asked, his hand slowly caressing the available skin between the edge of her –actually his- shirt and the waistband of her underwear.

                “No, I’m not gonna make you,” Sloan answered.

                “ _Good girl,_ ” Bucky purred, his hand running through her hair.

                Sloan took his moment of pause as her chance. In one swift movement, she wrapped a leg around Bucky’s middle and  _flipped_  260lbs of muscle and previously murderous Russian assassin so he was flush against the silk sheets with a 117lb girl on top of him. Bucky took in the sight on top of him. 5’3’’ and a 117 lbs of pure Sloan sat, with her black hair cascading around her shoulders, contrasting against the pale blue of Steve’s ratty old shirt. Her green eyes were fierce and calculating, examining every edge and crevice of Bucky’s body. For once in his life, Bucky felt himself  _enjoying_  being visually assessed. Her hands and wrists, blackened from her powers, were resting atop his chest, light pressure keeping his back against the bed. Not enough to keep him down if he  _really_ wanted to get up. But if Bucky was being honest with himself he didn’t really want to.

                Steve was watching, surprised, from his side of the bed. He got a perfect view of her side profile. Her smaller face, sharp jawline, and cute slightly upturned nose. Her body was tensed in preparation for being flipped again, a tactic he knew he had practiced more than once during battle and training. He noted internally how Bucky could’ve easily flipped her back, yet Bucky was letting her sit atop him and hold him in place. The sight in front of him was so sweet he could feel himself getting cavities.

                “Alright, lovebirds. I’m gonna go see Clint, try not to rot the wood with your sweetness.” Steve noted, placing separate kisses to Bucky and Sloan’s temples.

                Steve left the room stiffly, his prolonged position in bed stiffening his joints. Bucky chuckled and looked back up at the figure above him. Her crotch was right above his, her hips raised slightly so they weren’t touching. He lifted his head slightly and noted the black thong dividing her cheeks making them look more delectable than they already did. Sloan made a mental note to wear the thong more often because it was quickly becoming a fan favorite. Steve’s shirt hung in a way that made it obvious she wasn’t wearing a bra. Trailing his gaze up that delicious looking blank canvas of a neck, Bucky finally settled on her face. A faint dusting of freckles settled on the bridge of her nose and cheeks, making it obvious to Bucky how young she looked. He knew he was younger than Clint by at least 10 years but that also made him around  _10 years_  Sloan’s senior, Steve was in the same position but probably hadn’t realized it yet.

                Sloan examined him through hooded lids. Those beautiful eyes looked up at her with amusement and curiosity. His lips, pink and full, were parted lightly revealing the tips of his pearly white teeth. His scruff had rapidly turned into a full beard and it complimented his gorgeous golden-tanned skin. A couple lone freckles (that he would deny having if questioned) dotted his face, mixing in with the few faint scars he had acquired over the years. His hair was messily spread out behind him, contrasting dark brown locks against stark white silk pillows. He looked like a Greek God and Sloan’s arousal grew for the 3rd time that morning as she scanned her eyes down his body and stopped on his Adonis lines. She wouldn’t mind getting her lips on those. Above the lines was a faint dusting of dark hair leading to what Sloan hoped to one-day wrap her lips around.

                “Comfy doll?” Sloan said, teasing him with what he usually called her.

                “Extremely,” Bucky’s tongue slipped out to wet his lips.

                Sloan leaned close until their lips were a breath apart and the tips of their noses were touching.

                “How about now?” She said.

                Bucky’s hands ran up her back, blunt nails gently digging into her skin. She hissed at the pain, but she arched into it. He pressed against her lightly so their faces were closer.

                “Even better now,” He smiled.

                Sloan moved so her crotch was above his bare stomach. She lowered her hips so her body was nearly flush against him. Bucky could feel how wet she was but chose not to comment. He doubted they’d get to having sex from this, mostly because he  _really_  wanted food, but also because it would be too quick after Sloan expressed interest. Eventually, Sloan being just an inch away from his mouth got to be too much. So Bucky leaned up and closed the gap.

                Bucky had never understood the concept of God and Heaven, but if he had to describe it, he would say it’s what kissing Sloan feels like. Sloan gasped softly at the sudden intrusion of her personal space, but kissed back quickly, submitting to the man beneath her. His tongue brushed against her bottom lip and she opened her mouth. Whimpering when he tangled his tongue with her. Bucky’s metal hand trailed up her right side until it came to rest, buried in her hair. He tugged her closer, his flesh hand massaging the flesh of her ass.

                Sloan pulled away to breathe and met his hooded gaze with what she assumed was a hooded gaze of her own.

                “This is new,” Bucky comments.

                Sloan shrugged, looking shy.

                “I uh…thought you and Clint and Steve were gay,” she explained.

                Bucky chuckled deeply, pulling Sloan off his chest to cuddle her against his side. She rested her head on his right pec, staring up at his face.

                “Nah, I mean, a little, but we like girls too,” Bucky said softly.

                “Yeah, he said that too,”

                “So he told you that and then what?” Bucky enquired.

                “We kinda made out on the floor,”

                “You minx!” He gasped in fake surprise.

                It was Sloan’s turn to laugh loudly.

                “Alright, can we get up now, Daddy wants breakfast,” he joked.

                “I can give you breakfast,” Sloan hinted, opening her legs wide for him.

                “Real food, brat. Let’s go,” Bucky rolled his eyes playfully.

                He smacked the inside of her thigh gently, grinning at the gasp she let out. Bucky walked to the dresser and pulled on sweatpants before following Sloan who had gotten out of bed like she was told. When he caught up with her in the kitchen he called her a good girl and thanked her for following directions, prompting a smile to grow on her face that didn’t falter for the entirety of breakfast.

                After breakfast, however, things began to get challenging. The men sat her down in the living room and handed her a notebook and a pen. They had one to share between the three of them as well. This morning had been carefree and easy, just 4 people enjoying each other’s company but now it felt like a test to Sloan and she wasn’t sure if she was going to pass.

                “Alright, so this morning Sloan what did you tell me when I asked you about limits?” Clint engaged her.

                “I’ve never had any,” She said in a small voice.

                She winced when Bucky and Steve tensed.

                “That’s the first thing we’re going to establish, what can you not handle from us as doms?” Clint asked, pen poised.

                Sloan felt a wash of an unidentified emotion spread from her shoulders to the pit of her stomach. She was appreciative of their concern, sure, but she wasn’t sure if she wanted to revisit such dark memories of past scenes she did with Kyle that she definitely couldn’t handle.

                “Uh. N-nothing mean.” She said, feeling dumb.

                “Can you expand on what you consider mean?” Clint asked gently.

                “I d-don’t like it when doms call their subs sluts or other derogatory names. Makes me feel worthless and used.” She mumbled.    

                Clint wrote it down verbatim.

                “I don’t like bathroom stuff…I d-don’t know what it’s called but I don’t like it when people like shit on each other. I don’t like blindfolds, my dad kept me in the dark a lot when I got my powers and it makes me feel like I’m going crazy. K-kyle I mean, my old Dom made me his personal furniture once, and I don’t want to ever feel that way again. I- he- uh my dad and him used to restrict my food intake if I failed a mission or if I made a mistake and I don’t think I can do that again. That's all I can think of…I’m sorry,” Sloan said.

                She hadn’t realized her hands were shaking until Steve grasped them between his own.

                “Its okay kid you’re doing great so far. Let’s go over what we can’t handle,” Clint started.

                Sloan furrowed her brows in confusion.

                “Dom’s have limits?”

                Clint was once again struck by how much Sloan didn’t know about the world she was born to be a part of.

                “Yeah, I mean it’s a little different because you’re not going to be restraining us like we would to you, but there are certain scenes we won’t be able to do,” Clint explained.

                Sloan nodded. She understood.

                Steve spoke first, “I can’t do anything that involves dunking you or myself in cold water, most other temperature play I can do but anything involving submerging sends me straight into a panic attack. I won’t do a scene where I have to make you bleed or leave really intense marks on your body, mostly because it makes me feel like an abusive dom.”

                Bucky went next, “I’m fine with heavy impact play but I need to know your pain threshold because I can hit hard. I can’t do temperature play, or fear play, it’s too much like the conditioning I went through with HYDRA, same with restraining you. Except I can play with you while you’re restrained, but I can’t be the one to do it.”

                Clint went last, “Same as Bucky with temperature and fear play but everything else, for the most part, I can do,”

                “I don’t like the sound of fear play,” Sloan mumbled.

                “Then we won’t try it,” Clint assured.

                “O-okay…uh, I have a question?” Sloan said meekly.

                “Go ahead,” he prompted.

                “Are…d-do with have scenes all together? Or is it purely just one on one,” She seemed shy, but there was something beneath it.

                “Is that something you’d be interested in doing?” Clint asked.

                Sloan nodded.

                “Words kiddo,” Clint said.

                “Yes sir, I’d really like to have scenes with all of us,” Sloan said.

                Bucky shifted in his spot, his dick twitching in excitement. Steve looked like he was in a similar position.

                “What are some things you do like?” Clint asked.

                “I like being hit. Not hard enough to break bones, but enough to leave bruises. If it breaks skin that’s okay, sometimes the sting puts me deeper. Slapping my face is okay, as long as it's not hard and you don’t call me a slut while doing it. I don’t like cleaning shoes with my mouth but I liked kneeling when my Dom would ask and being subservient. He would have me hold his cock in my mouth, like just keeping it there not sucking or anything, and I really liked that. I saw a therapist one time and she said I had an oral fixation. I don’t know what that means but I like to suck-“ Sloan was rambling nervously.

                Steve tightened his grip with his left hand and gently slapped Sloan on her left cheek. She refocused and looked at him, obedient and slightly shocked.

                “Focus princess,” He said, slightly demanding.

                Sloan smiled softly, “Yes daddy.”

                “I- uh –okay I like being gagged or having anything in my mouth really. I like praise. Physical punishments in little space are fine, just don’t hit me as hard as you would if I was being punished as a sub. Little me likes everything baby like or childish except diapers and cribs, I like sleeping with you guys at night,” she paused, smiling to herself before continuing, “Sometimes I like being a sub in public like if I’m around other doms and subs, it makes me feel special. I’m really clingy in subspace and most times I won’t speak.” Sloan finished.

                The three men had smiles on their faces.

                “Thank you bug, anything else?” Clint said, he had a lot written down.

                She started to shake her head, but said “No daddy,” instead.

                “Alright, so let's finish this off by talking about rules in little space and then subspace.”

                By the end of the discussion, Sloan had three pages full of rules and her doms limits. The men’s notebook looked similar. Sloan had ended up on Bucky’s lap, her face in his neck, breathing softly as the men talk about their own rules and preferences about all this. She was in and out of subspace, drifting on the very brink of falling and standing steady in her normal headspace. Every once and a while Bucky had to pull her away so she could answer a question they had, but for the most part, she remained tucked away.

.-.-.-.

Their conversation continued on for the better part of the morning, ending finally at noon when Sloan was getting a bit antsy.

                “Can I go out with you guys in public?” Sloan asked into a room of silence.

                The thought had been knawing on her brain since morning. Clint looked up from cleaning his bow. Steve stopped sketching. Bucky turned the volume down on the TV.

                “Uh yes?” Clint answered.

                “Can we go out right now?” Sloan asked, trying to keep curiosity and excitement out of her tone. Because despite her sub demeanor she wanted to appear at least slightly tough when she wasn’t in her headspace. Bucky stopped watching TV from underneath her to look down at her in amusement.

                “Feeling a little stir-crazy huh monkey?” He teased.

                “Yeah,” she nodded, grinning shyly.

                “Alright I don’t see a problem with that, let’s go out,” Clint said, standing from his seat.

                Sloan smiled to herself, standing to leave, forgetting she still wasn’t wearing pants. Clint and Bucky were more or less dressed to go out, minus shoes and a weapon of some sort, but Steve, like Sloan, was still in his pajamas.

                “Uh, you’re not going out like that,” Steve grunted, looking at her legs.

                “Why not?" Sloan asked coyly, looking at Steve through her lashes.

                Steve’s stern face was enough to make Sloan’s knees go weak.

                “Because, your ass is on full display and that’s only for us to see,” he smirked, walking past her.

                Sloan just smiles to herself and follows him.

                Maybe she could do this, maybe she could be this version of herself.

                And maybe, just maybe, she might enjoy it. 


	13. Chapter 13

Eventually, Sloan and Steve got dressed. It took longer than expected, mostly because they spent a large part of it making out on the bed, but once they emerged – lips were swollen and hair messy – they found Bucky and Clint in a similar looking state. Sloan blushed, still new to the dynamic she felt privileged to be a part of and hid her face behind Steve's arm until it went away.

Going down in the elevator together was a weird experience for Sloan. Sure she'd gone down it before, that part wasn't new, but with her doms, it was a different vibe. The moment she stepped outside the apartment door, one of them had a hand on her always. First, it was Steve, a gentle brush against her fingertips that never really went away. Bucky was next, his hand on the small of her back as they stepped into the elevator. Clint was last with a subtle but dominating touch on the back of her neck. Sloan hated to admit to herself that she enjoyed this feeling. The feeling of being  _loved._ The feeling of being  _owned._ The usual suffocation of being dominated wasn't present, or if it was it minuscule in comparison to the soaring feeling of submitting growing within her.

Once they arrived on the last floor and started to leave, Sloan began to feel the nerves swallow her confidence and her heart started to race.

_What if one of her old crew members saw her? Or worse, someone from the other families?_

Sloan was nearly 100% sure that her father would never admit she was missing. He would immediately lose all power within the deal he had with the other families and possibly even be taken over. Sloan's namesake, hell, her nickname, was the only thing keeping Barney Bellomo from being assassinated and replaced. However, as happy as that made Sloan, it also made her realize that there were people looking for her, and if they found her it certainly would not be the prettiest discovery. As they got closer and closer to the doors of the garage, Sloan felt her heart shoot to her throat, her body trembling with nerves. If she told them, it would ruin her plans but then she'd be breaking the very first rule they established only an hour prior.

Her inner conflict made her teeth tug on her bottom lip and halt her movement with the group. Clint, whose hand was still on the back of her neck, stopped and looked down at her with concern. Sloan knew she was going to have to explain herself now, especially as Bucky and Steve stopped as well.

"What is it doll?" Bucky asked.

"I…I'm nervous about going out in public again, it's been awhile," Sloan said, which wasn't completely false. It just wasn't the whole truth.

"You'll be okay doll, we got you," Bucky smiled, running his hand through his hair.

Sloan nodded, swallowing her fear, and walking with the group again all the while praying to whatever god was listening that she could just enjoy this outing with her doms.

-.-.-.-

The trip into the city was easy. She talked and joked with her doms while enjoying their gentle touches and kisses, as well as enjoying the sight of them sharing the same touches and kisses with each other. Something about seeing Bucky and Steve press their lips to each other in what would otherwise be an intimate way stirred heat in her gut. God, she couldn't wait to get these men in bed. Well, it would more so be  _them_ getting  _her_ in bed. Either way, she'd end up more than satisfied.

Once they arrived in the city Sloan felt her nerves restart and her heartbeat quicken. She feels the edge of fear creep up the back of her throat and suddenly she's exposed. If she takes a step onto that street she could get shot or taken, or both. As much as she wanted to die weeks ago, the feeling had left her a while ago, it's ironic that now she's presented with a situation that could ultimately end in her death. Not one of the men had realized she had gone frozen in her seat the moment they entered Brooklyn. The car stopped at the corner of a relatively quiet street, and Sloan realized with panic that was right in her old stomping grounds.

 _Corner of Rogers Avenue and Prospect Place, how ironic._ Sloan thought to herself inadvertently casting a glance at the tallest blond heading the group.

Sloan was picking out landmarks like wildfire, naming owners of shops in her heads, running through the millions of coordinates that pinpointed; drop locations, clean up sights, dumping sites and anything else the daughter of a mafia boss might need them for. Clint and Bucky were talking to each other, not excluding her but not really paying attention to her either, and Sloan suddenly felt very isolated in a group of 3 people that were supposed to care for her.

A man laden with a tan trench coat and pointed shoes walked by them, knocking into Sloan and making her freeze. The man didn't stop, pull a gun or threaten her life. He simply kept walking down the street until turning down an alleyway that Sloan knew was a transportation route back to their command center. Sloan had taken it many times.

Sloan patted her right pocket and felt a slip of paper. The three men had paused a bit further down the street, only realizing later that Sloan had frozen in place. She made a mental note to read the note later and caught up with her boys, her hand going straight for Steve's. He looked down at her, a smile spreading on his perfect All American face. His hand tightened around hers and he pulled her close. Sloan felt herself wanting to see that smile more often. See that smile when she was on her knees, Steve pistoning his hips and driving his cock down her throat all the while chanting praises.

Given their public setting, however, Sloan would settle for his smile and a firm hand wrapped around hers.

Eventually, they arrived at a small café in between a laundromat and a technology store. The sign read  _Pierogi Café_ in bold blocked letters, followed by a cartoon image of what Sloan could only assume was a steaming pierogi. Steve held the door open, shepherding Sloan and the other two men inside before following them.

"Go pick a booth princess," Steve requested. His voice deep and steady in her ear.

"Yes daddy," Sloan said, not even realizing it, and made her way to a booth in the middle of the farthest wall.

She had a good vantage point in the restaurant that way. Sloan slid into the left booth while Bucky and Clint took the other side. Steve was talking to an aging man with white hair and glasses behind the counter, a smile still on his face _._

"Thanks, Mr. Lee," Steve said, apparently having placed an order.

"Steve I keep tellin' you to call me Stan," The man laughed, disappearing into the back room.

Steve's cheeks pinked as he walked towards the table, sliding in next to Sloan. His hand immediately went to her thigh. Sloan scooted closer and propped her elbows up on the table. Bucky and Clint were still lost in conversation, oblivious to the pairs of blue and green eyes boring into their skulls.

"Boys, what has you so conversational?" Sloan teased.

Bucky and Clint stopped talking, both developing a mischievous glint in their eye before Bucky said, "If you hafta' know doll, we were talking about how pretty you would look with a gag in that mouth of yours."

Sloan gulped hard, her cheeks tinted fiery red.

"And how pretty you'd look on your knees in front of us, warming our cocks until we were ready to fuck you properly," Clint said, his tongue darting out to lick his lips.

Sloan sunk into the padded booth, her arousal painfully sparking. A whimper escaped her lips and she had to start taking deep breaths.

"I think she likes the sound of that, don't you princess?" Steve asked running his hand through her hair.

She leaned into the touch, nodding. Steve chuckled and cradled her closer, dropping a kiss on her forehead, and then one on her mouth when she tilted her head up. The kiss was short, just a press of lips, but it didn't do anything to stop the fire burning in the pit of her stomach. God she couldn't wait to submit to them. A couple minutes later there was a platter of steaming pierogis in front of them and Sloan forgot all about her arousal. She was about to dig in when Stan came back with a plate of meat and potato dumplings on the side. Sloan was pretty sure she was drooling at this point but she didn't care.

"Alright, let's eat," Clint said, but Sloan was already on her second pierogi.

"Oopsies," She said, smiling around the food.

"You're lucky you're cute," Steve said, gently cuffing his knuckles against her jaw.

She chewed and swallowed.

"Oh don't I know it,"

.-.-.-.

By the end of lunch, they had powered through 8 platters of pierogis and 3 plates of stew and dumplings. Sloan was stuffed, to say the least, but she was happy to see the boys smiling at her for eating. She ignored the stirring in her gut that was telling her she ate too much. She was ignoring the self-loathing voice in her head telling her she was fat. She was trying to sit still and not launch over the back of the booth to go throw up everything she just ate in what is probably a gross, dingy, bathroom.

She was trying and it was hard, but the hope that her boys would be proud of her for keeping her food down was planting her in her seat.

"Alright now what, are we going back to the compound?" Clint asked as they left the café.

Sloan really didn't wanna go back to the compound yet, she enjoyed her freedom.

"Can we go shopping or something…?" Sloan asked quietly, wringing her hands nervously.

She used to get slapped for asking for things. Her old dom hated spending any money on her.

"That sounds like a good idea, we can go pick up some stuff for you yeah?" Bucky said, holding her to his side and pressing a kiss to the crown of her hairline.

Sloan nodded, she really had been hoping to go pick up more BDSM related stuff, because her little/sub, the collection was relatively tiny.

"I know a place," Clint said.

.-.-.-.-.

And boy did Clint know a place.

The group walked for maybe 3 blocks until they came face to face with a pair of leather-clad breasts stretched across a storefront window. The sign read ' _Leatherworks: for your pleasure'_ and although Sloan rolled her eyes at the sign, she was feeling a pool of arousal in her gut again.

 _That's starting to happen a little too frequently. Chill out body, you haven't been laid in a couple years and that's not gonna change today._ Sloan thought, stepping inside.

As soon as the four of them entered the store, Bucky made a bee-line for the whips and impact toys, Sloan felt herself gulp.

 _Maybe it will change today._ Sloan corrected herself.

Clint was still next to Sloan, but Steve was long gone down another aisle that Sloan hadn't been able to catch the contents of. Clint had a hand on the back of her neck, rubbing soothingly, and murmuring words of praise to her – mistaking her silence and pause as anxiety.

"I'm g-good. J-just surprised is all. Lots of stuff here that I've never seen before and I kinda wanna try it all at once," Sloan chuckled wryly.

"Let's start with stuff for the headspace you're most comfortable in," Clint said.

Sloan nodded and made her way to the easily tamest aisle in the whole store. It was the first one on the far right and lined with anything and everything a little could want. Her eyes widened to saucers, her little-space exploding into her so fast she got dizzy.

She backed up a little, turning to look for Clint when she was suddenly chest to chest with a very tall woman in a leather corset and red leather biker shorts. Her boots were leather as well, painted black to match the corset. She was tall, taller than Sloan – arguably most people are-, and smiling down at her like the shark in Finding Nemo. Her face, despite the predatory smile, was kind. Brown eyes, brown hair, and caramel skin. God, she was gorgeous.

Sloan felt insecure and pale by comparison. Sure Sloan was tan, but she was nowhere near the golden hue of this woman. Her eyes were green but somehow the brown-eyed woman captured a glint in hers that Sloan was sure she'd never have. Her lips were dark, lipstick or natural color, Sloan couldn't tell. Her teeth were pristinely white in comparison, making Sloan feel, if at all possible,  _more_ insecure

"Oh I'm sorry, excuse' me, I'm looking for my da- boyfriend," Sloan said as she was slipping quickly into her headspace.

She felt so small compared to this woman, and while that was probably the intended effect of the heels, Sloan knew her feeling small would lead to little space and if she was going to be little in public, she'd rather it be around one of her boys.

"Aww it's no problem pumpkin," the woman squatted down to her level, "My name is Sydney, I own this place. Whats your name sweet thing?" Sydney asked.

Sloan cringed at the nicknames, her skin crawling at the pure lust dripping from Sydney's lips.

"Sloan!" Clint called, just as she opened her mouth to answer Sydney.

Sloan whipped her head to the voice, eyes widening again and anxiety shooting up her spine. Tears were collecting at the corners of her eyes, threating to spill onto her cheeks. Sydney was watching, the same nauseating smile on her face. Sloan realized tears might be a turn on for her, and while she wasn't opposed to crying during sex (from overstimulation, happiness, intense emotions etc.) she wasn't going to start with a random woman she met in a sex shop.

"Papa," she said, reaching out to him.

Clint, in 3 long strides, had Sloan on his hip, glaring at Sydney.

"Where's Dan," he asked, his dom voice in full effect.

"He's not working today, and I'm glad, I never woulda' met this sweet little thing," Sydney reached out to touch Sloan's chin.

Clint's full body jerked back, putting a fair amount of distance between him and her. Sydney frowned, anger clouding her brown eyes until they resembled a muddy hurricane.

"Fine, have it your way Barton," Sydney practically growled, stalking away.

Sloan looked between Clint and Sydney for a while before deciding she could ask later, and becoming interested in a pacifier on the wall in front of her. She was mostly in her headspace now, but not so much that she couldn't leave it if she needed to. She picked up the pacifier, showing it to Clint.

"You like those?" He asked, rubbing her back.

She nodded, moving to put it in her mouth.

"Ah ah, not yet kiddo," Clint said, brushing her hair away from her face and taking the pacifier. He dropped it in the cloth basket he was holding.

They went down the entire aisle selecting items for little-space like stuffed animals, bibs, pacifiers, bottles, sippy cups, onesies, and blankets. By the end of the journey to the end of the aisle, Sloan was giggling and holding tight to a new stuffed animal, itching to buy it.

"Can we go look for subspace stuff now?" Sloan asked around her thumb.

"Steve and Bucky already got a whole bunch of stuff, but we can let you pick out some more," Clint winked, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

They go down another aisle filled with gags and restraints and Sloan is immediately drawn to a pacifier gag, gently touching the ribbon. She looks to Clint who's watching her carefully. Sloan nods and picks it up, tossing it into the cloth basket.

By the end of the shopping trip, Clint had spent $300. With a significantly lighter wallet and his mood significantly better (as it always is when he splurges on the people he loves cares for), Clint decided it was time to go home.

Sloan was bouncing around like a hyper 5-year-old, holding onto Bucky's hand and pointing at every little thing on their walk back to the car. "Dada look at the trees they're so green!", "That birdy looks funny," and Clint's personal favorite, "I wonder if dogs love me the way I love them." Bucky simply hummed and nodded along.

None of them were aware of the figure following them from behind. Sloan's hand's tingled slightly, but she was too far into her giddy headspace to fully register the connotation behind it.

They got to the car and Sloan slid in first, her body vibrating with excited energy. Bucky and Steve went in next after putting the boxes (yes, boxes) and bags in the trunk. Clint was last, sliding in next to Bucky who was across from Steve. Sloan was laying halfway in Steve's lap, her excitement gone as quick as it had come, asleep.

"Alright Happy, take us home"


End file.
